The Heart Still Beats Even When It's Broken
by iLoveButtons84
Summary: Lucius Malfoy has never been able to forgive himself for the loss of his precious little girl. Its been twelve excruciating years and he will do anything to get her back. Content 'Rated M' for mature content relating to violence and adult themes.
1. Half a Father

_Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape or form intending to steal or infringe on copyrights owned by JK Rowling or Warner Bros. I do not claim to own any of the following that is linked to the Harry Potter saga, which was created and is credited to JK Rowling, who in my opinion is a genius. This story is purely for fun and no profit is being made from this. I own Ophelia and the basic storyline. But it is a little canon and draws on concepts from the older and future plots also. That is all._

_**Thank you GemmaKaz for your review! Thank you, thank you! I certainly do not expect any reads or reviews, but when I get reviews like I have from you, ashrachellexx and pourquiobella, well, that's just, I'm literally lost for words. When I write, I write with the hope that there is just one reader out there who gets the same pleasure that I do when I write it! I do hope that if someone has a critique about this story that they tell me too!**_

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><p>Half a Father<p>

To be blatantly honest, Lucius Malfoy was an absolute bastard and he knew it. But when it came to his family, there was nothing neither more perfect nor higher in his esteem. Nothing was more important to him and it was the only thing in his life that he allowed to stir the tiniest bit of emotion in his caged heart.

He may have been an icy exterior met by all and defeated by none, but he was a man of utter resilience and no one dared cross his path.

He stood in the door-frame, leaning to one side watching over the sleeping boy. Draco, his one and only son appeared peacefully enraptured in his slumber, eyes flickering frantically back and forth behind his eye lids, deep in a dream state. A leg slung over the edge of the bed and fully exposed.

Lucius smirked, that boy was becoming a chip off the old block with every day that passed. His replica blue-grey eyes and immaculate silver-blonde hair was only heightened by a supreme resolve in who he was and where he was going. A true Malfoy heir. Pride swelling in the older man's chest at the thought that his boy was growing up into everything he had ever wished for in his son.

'_I'm getting too sentimental in my old age._' Lucius amusedly digressed, whilst figuring what to do with the boy's awkward sleeping arrangement.

Pushing gently off the door frame, Lucius sighed and moved toward the boy in the bed. He ever-so-gently brought the boy's leg back up onto the bed and covered it with a spare corner of the sheet. Rearranging the remainder of the blankets over his son, Lucius then leaned down and kissed the top of his head, affection a rare experience for the older man.

"Dream well… Dragon," he whispered quietly, more to himself than anything.

He then turned to the door and proceeded down the long hallway to the master bedroom, where his wife would no doubt already be in bed. Narcissa, just like her name, was heartbreakingly beautiful, and also the strongest woman Lucius had ever dealt with. He was secretly glad that they shared a deep love for one another. He didn't think he would fare well against her, should they ever disagree. When she was angry, she was like a ferocious lioness and it frightened the pants off him.

Reaching the double-doors to the master suite, Lucius quietly turned the handle and slipped through the door. He observed his wife, ever so relaxed, in what he could only describe as a light sleep. She must have just started to doze off, as a book lay open upon her lap and her upper-body still perched against the bed's back board, head slowly falling forward before flinging back up and over correcting itself.

Lucius allowed a little smile to form on his face. Narcissa is never this relaxed during her waking hours. He had always taken secret pleasure in watching his wife sleep, and for the past twelve years it was the only time she allowed herself to momentarily surrender and forget a grief she so desperately cleaved to. A grief she kept for several reasons, Lucius mused.

Firstly, it was as a reminder of their loss. It was also a daily self-punishment of Narcissa's because of self-blame for something that was out of anyone's control. But thirdly, Lucius considered, was that it represented an emotional vigil to the one thing, they as a family, wanted to keep alive in their hearts forever, their daughter and sister.

Taking off his shirt and sitting on his side of the bed, he looked over to the photograph on his bedside table. Picking it up, he gave a saddened choke, looking at the moving picture.

A younger Lucius Malfoy was relaxing back in a recliner chair in St Mungo's maternity wing, a small little life bundled askew in pink blankets, cradled to his chest. The image looked up now, meeting his older-self's eyes. It smiled broadly, no, it was more than that. It was beaming. Pure and radiant happiness was coming from the man, one half of his ultimate pride right there in his arms, his whole world. 'That' Lucius had two little angels of pink and blue, barely a few hours old.

The best part about it all for Lucius though, was that no one was expecting her. She was a surprise packet, arriving a few short minutes after her brother, but instantly melting everyone's hearts with her newborn grey eyes, silvery-white tuft of hair and the sweetest little cries.

Of course, Lucius was stoked when Draco arrived. He was of course the new Malfoy son and heir, in perfect health and all the promise in the world. But when little Ophelia decided to follow suit and rather unexpectedly, well, Lucius went from chuffed to being ecstatic. There hadn't been a girl born with the Malfoy name for eight generations, so to have one of each, well, Lucius was the bird that got the worm and the cat that got the cream. To him though, his daughter was the epitome of his perfection.

But now, all he had was bitterness and emptiness. He hated his former self and he hated how he had let himself feel, because the more you felt the more it hurt and this was a hurt that he would take with him to the grave.

His little girl was completely defenseless and he wasn't there to stop it. He was meant to be her protector and he failed within two days of her birth. He failed and he would never forgive himself. Every night he wished from his deepest longings, that he could have a second chance. Though, he knew this wish was futile for he believed nothing was going to bring his princess back.

A pair of warm, feminine hands ran themselves down over Lucius' shoulders and then wrapped themselves around his waist. A slim body pulled itself against his back and fragile, soft kisses started across his shoulder blades, bringing him back to his bedroom and regrettably, reality.

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Narcissa had woken when her husband sat quietly on the side of their marital bed. She watched him reach for the photograph, the emotional pain evident in the way he hunched forward over his hips, and his breathing becoming slow and deep. She allowed him a private moment to think and to feel, knowing all too well that this was a rare occurrence. He never openly discussed nor displayed his pain over what happened to their daughter, but one thing was certain, it made him a very bitter and closed man.

But, as any good wife knows, it's best to not let men dwell on their feelings. They may feel they're immune to emotions, but it is a well-known fact that if you let a man brood, you'll have storm clouds in the house for a very long time.

She reached across the bed and wrapping her arms around his waist, she pulled herself close to him. Kissing his bare shoulder blades, she felt his body relax, at her touch. Though it was only a slight physical response, it was still comforting to know that she still had this effect on her husband after fifteen years of marriage. He brought his hands down over hers that were clasped in front of him, drawing small circles with his thumb.

He blinked madly, no, he wouldn't. He was not going to break, not now. The harder he fought however, the more useless his efforts seemed to be. Finally letting go, he dropped his head and began to cry in earnest.

Narcissa, slightly shocked, took it in her stride and gently pulled her husband back into a loving embrace. He rolled over into the fetal position, his head on her lap and his arms swathed around her legs, sobbing hopelessly. He felt pathetic, needy and vulnerable, while she tenderly ran her fingers through his hair without judgment. Twelve years of pent-up pain, slowly uncoiling like a dormant spring, wound too tight.

Not a word was spoken. The room fell silent with Lucius eventually succumbing to his tiredness, Narcissa following soon after, still holding her lover close, determined to never let him go.


	2. Foster Me Out

***A/N - Thanks for your review 'pourquiobella'!**

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><p>Foster Me Out<p>

Ophelia sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the small bare bedroom. She felt numb. The past two days went by in a blur: saying goodbye again to everyone she'd become to know, the seven hour car ride to her new home and her first night with the new family. She knew what to expect, but she didn't know what they expected.

Her new foster 'parents,' Judy and Bill Tibbs, seemed nice enough, quite welcoming but not as warm as Ophelia would have hoped. This family had obviously fostered before. They were very guarded and unreadable. The first thing Judy said to her was, "Well, you're very pretty little girl aren't you?" and smiled at her widely, while patting her head, her face close-up in the girl's own as if to study her. Ophelia observed how aged the older woman's face looked up close.

Ophelia only just managed to return a smile and nervously said "Er… Hello" while hesitantly hold out a hand for Judy and Bill to shake.

Since the initial meeting, Ophelia judged that for the moment it was best to stay quiet. She wasn't a huge conversationalist anyway, and to be honest, she probably did not have anything interesting to say, considering all she had ever known was foster family after foster family. She wasn't exactly worldly, so staying silent was probably the best option to take.

Then there was the Tibbs' son, Darcy, who appeared to be about the same age as her. He just stared at Ophelia, eyes narrowing a little as if to say "not another one." This looked confirmed Ophelia's suspicions that she wasn't their first fostering experience.

She didn't seem too bothered by his unwelcoming glare however. She'd had lived with foster 'siblings' before, and had experienced her fair share of rivalries with them. Besides, she figured that this would be another temporary reassignment by her case-worker. Ophelia seemed to be moved around a lot more than your average foster kid.

Yes admittedly, there had been incidents in the past, odd things, you know, unexplained occurrences. All for which Ophelia was blamed for. It was beyond her understanding though, how she was constantly blamed for things that could not be explained. But, she was a good scapegoat, no one would defend her because she was not one of them – she was different. She had no family and therefore did not belong. Another unwanted of the state.

On the flip-side, it wasn't as though she was a trouble maker either, she never did anything to intentionally hurt another. She kept her head down at school and received high marks in all of her studies. But she was an expert introvert, guess that came with the territory of not actually being wanted and not belonging.

The house that she now lived in, was in a small country town about two and a half hours from any major towns or cities and the high school she would be attending was in another small town about ten minutes' drive from where she lived. Judy, her foster mother was a teacher and librarian at the high school so she would be travelling with her every day to and from school. Ophelia figured that was quite convenient.

She lay back on her bed and gazed at the roof, a million thoughts travelling through the synapses of her mind. She allowed herself to drift off to the only place she felt safe, her subconscious, beckoning her to a temporary sweet solace from her conscious thoughts, she finally relaxed.

However, as soon as her eyelids closed, they literally flung open again.

Ophelia sat up in alarm, her heart racing as though she had just been flung at a hundred kilometres per hour through the air then seemingly just plummeted down, falling and landing onto an incredibly soft cushion, all in mere seconds. She quickly calmed herself down and took in her surroundings.

This wasn't the roof she was just staring at. She frowned, sitting up more, she leaned her back against the bed's headboard. She tried to translate what she was seeing. The room she was in was ginormous. Hold that thought actually. The bed she was in was ginormous, let alone the bedroom! She'd never seen anything so magnificent. The mattress underneath her felt like air and feathers.

Her hand came up to rub sleep out of her eye… Hang on she didn't have sleep in her eye, she'd literally just got to sleep before waking up in a flap. She tried to put her arm down… Her hand then moved to rub her other eye. She tried to put her arm down again. This time her other arm come up and both went up together to stretch, yawningly, her body conceded and lurched forward, throwing the covers off of her lower half. Her legs swung over the side of the bed.

Ophelia yelped. They weren't her legs! In shock, a hand flung to her mouth to muffle the yelp. That was not her voice! And worst of all, she had no control over what she was doing!

'_What the hell is going on?_' She mentally interrogated. She had to be dreaming, it was the only logical explanation. She could remember falling asleep, so surely she could wake herself up.

She never though pinching herself would be such a challenge. Her body disobeyed her every command, and it was becoming terribly frustrating.

As Ophelia continued to muse to herself about waking up from her 'so-real-it's-awkwardly-awkward' dream, her 'dream body' had managed to make its way to a small room off of the large bedroom. She noticed it was a gorgeous bathroom, adorned with a large white bath in the centre of the room on silver 'claw feet', black tiled floor and forest green with white trim walls leading up to a white with forest green trimmed ceiling. This bathroom was spectacular. In that short moment, she was very envious of her dream state's bathroom.

As she walked further into the room, she walked past a large silver mirror, catching her dream personas reflection. She jolted. The dream persona also jumped. Their heart collectively pounding so hard in their chests, their pulse was audible in both pairs of ears.

Ophelia felt the body she was in, turn and head to the large mirror. She was slowly tuning in to the other's feelings, and they could tell something was amiss.

She stared at the mirror. The reflection was not what she was expecting. Though the same blue-grey eyes peered back at her, the remainder of the face and body shook Ophelia to the core.

There stood a boy, about the same age as her, with her same sliver-blond hair, only much shorter in length, staring intensely back. She could tell from his face that he was just as confused. His hands came up to his face and started to poke and pull at it, frowning as he did so.

They both stared intently for a few more moments before he fully took control again and shook his head. Ophelia just continued to stare. He felt so familiar, and he looked a lot like her, but she'd never honestly seen him before.

Before Ophelia could register what was going on, she felt freezing cold water splash down his face, the cold making her shiver intensely as if the face was her own. The boy was obviously trying to come to his senses using shock tactics.

The sensation took her breath away and was too overwhelming, catching Ophelia by surprise. She could feel a pulling sensation around her body, as though something was dragging her backwards, followed by the sensation of falling. She very much wanted to throw-up then and there. She closed her eyes willing the nauseating experience to pass.

Landing with a soft thud, her eyes fluttered briefly before opening, and she was again staring at the ceiling in the small room at her foster family's home. It was all just a dream. Intensely real, but just a dream.

"Ophelia! Dinner's ready." Called out Bill from the kitchen. "Coming," she called back. Collecting herself, she rose from the bed, and went to the dining room for dinner.

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His eyes flew open. He was lying on the cold, tiled floor in his bathroom, waiting for his cognitive faculties to return. He groaned and rolled onto his back, looking up he tried to focus on the tall figure kneeling over him, shaking him gently by his shoulders.

"Draco… Draco!" Urged the semi-frantic voice.

The boy instantly recognised the voice as his father's. Moaning, he sat up slowly with the help of older man.

"Draco? Are you okay son?" The concerned man creasing his brow as he helped his son to stand.

"Father… Yes, just had a moment…. Got up too quickly, just a little dizzy is all." Draco replied.

Lucius continued to study his son to make sure nothing was broken. Privately, he was such a worry wart.

"Father, honestly I'm fine." Draco pushed. He did not want his father to stress.

"Well, if you're sure…" Lucius mused.

"Yes, father, I'm fine. Thank you." Draco enforced.

Relaxing slightly, Lucius chuckled a little, "Guppy came up to call you for breakfast when he found you here. You gave your old dad quite a scare. You were out for at least three minutes, and it was the longest bloody three minutes of my life…."

Guppy was one of the Malfoy's houeselves.

Draco smirked, and cut in to console the man. "Sorry father."

After another round of reassurances, Lucius left contented that his son was okay, and headed down to the family dining room.

Draco managed to fleetingly recall the odd experience he had just prior to passing out. And the only word to describe it was 'odd'.

He distinctly recalled moments of where he did not have control over himself, and he could have sworn that he saw another face when he looked in his bathroom mirror. Sure, he saw his own reflection, but he could have sworn he saw another face within his own.

'_I must be really going around the bend,_' he thought to himself. It was either that, or he had way too much cheer at Christmas time. He figured he must have eaten more lollies in the past few days than Honeydukes could produce in a lifetime. Maybe it was just a declining response to a hyper-sugar experience?

Shrugging his shoulders, he pulled his night-gown on over his pajamas and headed down to breakfast with his parents.

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><p><strong>*AN: Please let me know what you think and critiques are definitely welcome... I do spell and grammar checks on my pieces but even they are not 100% for the fact that I put them up straight after writing them :D**


	3. Seeing is Believing

Seeing is believing

It was New Year's Eve and before Ophelia knew it, the party at the Tibbs' was in full swing. She sighed a little. She wasn't exactly in the mood for seeing in the first of January with her foster parents, so excusing herself she went to bed at ten-thirty, leaving the rest to party the night away.

She had been at her new 'home' for four days. So far it had been uneventful with the exception of the strange dream about the blonde-boy. Darcy her foster brother was hardly home. He was enjoying his school holidays, catching up with his friends. He made it very clear that she was not welcome to join him. Ophelia couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something odd about him, a 'something' she wasn't sure she liked.

The weather was stifling hot, much to Ophelia's discomfort, she felt sluggish and drained of energy. This was unusual for her. She was used to the hot Australian summers, and generally didn't mind them. She loved to go swimming in the excessive heat, feel the sun's rays beat down on her pale skin.

She truly was an odd-ball. She never got sunburnt, but her skin never tanned neither. With all the time she spent in the sun, her skin in all honesty should have looked as dark and tough as a pair of old brown leather boots. It made her think more about who she really was. Where and who she came from. She knew it wasn't normal to spend copious amounts of time in the sun without effect.

Stretching out on her bed in her tank top and sleeping shorts, Ophelia allowed the warm breeze to brush over her exposed legs and arms from the open window above her. She closed her eyes and relaxed, absorbing the stillness. She could hear the noise of the party from the other end of the house, but with the doors of both the hallway and bedroom closed, the sounds were muffled and not as distracting. Allowing her-self to delve even further into her relaxed state, Ophelia's thoughts drifted inwards.

'_I wish I knew who I was_,' she said to herself in an absent minded way, exhaling a deep, withheld breath. The constant chatter in her mind slowing down, stark images forming behind her eye lids making a movie-like presentation as Ophelia dived head-first, inadvertently, into a deep reflection.

Like before, her eyes fluttered open as soon as she felt them close, her stomach was knotted up and her heart was beating hard, as though it was trying to burst out. Her sight a little distorted for just a moment, her disorientation increasing as she tried to work out where she was.

'_I must be dreaming again_,' she mused, '_certainly feels like the last time._' She moved her right hand across to her left arm and went in for the pinch. Yet again, this proved to be a failed mission. Ophelia frowned. She could feel herself undertake the action, but in all anticipation she couldn't feel it. She could feel her skin being nipped between her thumb and index finger, minus the pain that should be accompanying it.

She was going to give up on the 'pinching yourself to wake up' deal. It was an absolute sham.

Mind you, she was secretly happy that at least this time, she had control over her body. She looked down and raised an eye brow. '_Well, this is unexpected_.' Her body was there, but it wasn't. It was as though she was just a shimmer in a solid world. Looking back up, slightly unsure, she took in her surroundings. Everything appeared solid. Much more solid than Ophelia was feeling at that moment.

Furrowing her brow, she continued to glance around. Was she in a library? Possibly? There were books everywhere. Shelves around the walls of the room and about twelve of thirteen just free standing in rows, all containing a countless number of books. She awed her appreciation at the collection. Oh how she would love to just peruse the titles.

Pushing her chin up further, Ophelia glanced towards where the ceiling should be. Completely gob-smacked, she saw just more shelves filled with books reaching for the sky. The dark wooden shelves appeared to go on and on, with ladders hanging off shelves here and there.

In some places the ceiling wasn't even visible. It made Ophelia wonder if there was indeed a roof. However, she observed in other areas that the roof was also covered in books and books shelves as well.

She frowned, pondering, '_How on earth were the books staying in there?_' The books were neatly shelved on the ceiling, in place like one would expect them to be on a normal shelf, their spines exposed for the potential reader to peruse.

Taking in as much as she could, Ophelia now began to realise that the books were moving… by themselves! It appeared to her that they were rearranging themselves on their shelves, as though they were putting themselves into order. This commotion was continuing in all of the shelves, even on the ceiling. She watched as one book would withdraw from its place, followed by a group of books sliding down to fill that spot and then the book that had removed itself, float to the new empty space and reposition itself. It was like invisible librarians were making sure all of the books were in order. Though what order, Ophelia could not determine.

She then watched as three ladders zoomed past at frightening speeds, running along the shelves then stopping abruptly to allow books to change places. There was no one controlling the ladders, they just zoomed around and appeared to have a mind of their own.

Pulling her eyes away from the floating books and moving ladders, she took in the view being provided by the four tall windows to one side of the room. They exposed cool, grey clouds in the sky outside. It appeared to be lightly snowing. Ophelia gasped. She'd never seen snow before – how odd to be dreaming of it. It's not as though she had a deep subconscious desire to holiday in the snow, so it surprised her that it made its way into her dream.

The trees in the background were covered in a thick layer of the cold powder, with white dominating the both the fore and backgrounds. It was breath taking. Land stretched out as far as she could see, a thick forest type-area appeared off to the left, with powdered hedge-rows dominating the right. Directly in front of her, Ophelia noticed drop-steps leading down into a vast clearing area. She could only presume it was a garden, with a huge frozen water fountain in the middle. It would look glorious in the spring time she thought.

'_This is not possible,_' continuing to talk to her-self. Just like the boy's bedroom and the green bathroom, this library-type 'room' and outside views were breathtaking. She certainly knew what to dream about! She could have stayed in there forever.

Still craning her neck and absorbing the unbelievable sight, Ophelia became startled by the sound of two men's voices from behind her.

"To the pending New Year, Severus!" said the first man.

His voice was a deep, aristocratic drawl. His accent was very think English. It was strangely familiar to her, his words vibrating through the core in her abdomen. Goosebumps covered her exposed limbs as she shivered. She turned to look the man that caused such a reaction.

"Lucius," the second man responded in gesture, his dark, foreboding figure standing in stark prominence to the first man. Both men had raised glass tumblers in direction of the other in silent '_cheers_'.

The first man, from what Ophelia could see, was a well-built man and was seated in one of the black, leather arm chairs near the fire place. Opposite to him was the second man, leaning next to the banister by the fire, dressed in all black – his gaze dark and heavy lidded.

The glow from the roaring flames illuminated both of the men's features in places, making dark shadows in others. Ophelia turned her attention back to the seated man.

His broad torso clad in a grey shirt, long white-blonde hair, falling elegantly down over his shoulders and piercing, cold grey eyes. He appeared to be in his mid to late thirties maybe, though Ophelia was terrible at guessing ages. Regardless of his age, she noticed that he seemed to have an athletic build.

She studied him intently, shocked at what she was truly seeing. It was too coincidental that she many similarities with him in appearance, though her features were much more feminine and petite. This was a disconcerting for Ophelia. She had only experienced a dream such as this once before, but it was about the boy, who strangely enough shared similar features as well.

This dream was so incredibly vivid. She couldn't understand how her mind was able to conjure up an image of a man, who resembled how her father would have looked like. In her awake-state, she had never imagined her father would look like this, and she would day dream about him quite a lot. Her reaction was also something that she didn't expect.

When she looked at him, she felt heaviness in her heart and emptiness in her stomach as though looking at him increased the loneliness she felt and heightened her longing to know her family.

Snapping to, she forced herself to feel a sudden surge of anger towards the man and annoyance at herself. Why on earth was she dreaming of her idea of her "real" family? What was even worse for Ophelia though was why the hell would she be feeling a longing and yearning to know them? To be a part of them? After all, it was they who didn't want her in the first place.

What was even more vexatious was the fact that she felt for this total stranger, and that _she_ _had_ _to_ _force_ _herself_ to hate even the slightest inch of him. She should have had an automatic hate for him, that's how things like this worked. Her twelve-year-old mind overtaking her twelve-year-old emotions. '_Stupid feelings_,' she whispered in annoyance.

She looked at the standing man. He did not seem familiar to her at all. His dark hair fell about his face. His hair was not as long as the other man's, and it was the complete opposite in colour. The raven locks accentuated his midnight black eyes. He was incredibly intimidating. And in absolute contrast to the blonde man in the chair, Ophelia wondered why the in hell would they be talking to each other. They appeared completely different, with no similar agenda. Though, despite of all of this, they appeared at complete ease with each other, almost like old friends.

'_How odd._'

Turning her attention back to the blonde man once more, Ophelia forced her dislike for him to surface. Made her-self feel the way she _should_ be feeling about him. She moved towards the man, positioning herself so she was standing directly in front of him, with the fire at her back. It was evident that neither he nor the other man could see her.

She stared at the blonde man who she had subconsciously dreamed up as her father. Though she had mixed emotions coursing through her body, the hate was there still. A blinding hatred, hatred brought on by hurt. Yet, when she looked at him more she could have sworn she saw etched into his own expression – pain? Concern? She couldn't tell. She pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the building rage in her body. He looked up at the fire in front of him, his gaze boring straight into Ophelia's, she went icy cold. Like a flick of a switch, she all of a sudden lost control and exploded.

Fists clenched to her sides, she screamed. 'Y_ou bastard. You bloody arse hole!_" Her pain spewing out with her words. "_I hate you. I hate your guts… You left me… You live in a cushy bloody life and yet you think it is okay to just dump a defenseless child somewhere… FUCK YOU! You don't want a kid so you just happily dispose of them? You're pathetic! You don't deserve to be happy! You don't deserve to have children. You're such an arse hole! I hate you… I truly… really… I…_" Ophelia went from angry to a total emotional mess.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she fell forward onto her knees, her face in her hands, no longer wanting to look at the man. She didn't like the after-feelings of her angry outburst. It was though she felt wrong, like her actions were unjustified.

She was so confused, she knew she should truly hate this dreamed up 'dad' but she couldn't, as though something was missing. Unconsciously she started to expel another verbal ramble, this time, the truth of how she truly felt passed over her lips before she could stop herself from allowing her heart to be honest with her head.

"_I… I wish you were real… I wish… I… You… Please save me…_" Heaving sobs coming from the girl.

She put her hand up onto his knee. She was not expecting to feel anything. She just wanted to know what closeness was.

"_Daddy?_" She whimpered, "_I need you._" Uncontrolled emotions spilling out with that last breath.

It was at those words the completely unexpected happened. Her hand pulsed and instant warmth shot up her arm from the contact with the man's knee. She jumped at the sensation and pulled it back.

His actions too, were very noticeable. It was as though he was repositioning himself after feeling… Uncomfortable.

'_Did he… could've he have felt it too?_' Ophelia looked up at him.

Intrigued, she put her hand back onto his knee. This time… Nothing. She frowned in confusion and frustration. She stood up, straightening her back and sheer determination overtaking her expression. She could have sworn he reacted to her touch. It was too coincidental. And she felt it too, she was sure of it. An overwhelming feeling of certainty filling her core.

She studied the man intently for a moment, watching him bring the glass tumbler to hips lips, the pungent brown liquid making him swallow it down hard. Clearly the taste of it wasn't why he was drinking it. Ophelia presumed it was alcoholic judging his expression each sip. Though it wasn't a drink she'd seen any adults drink before. She watched as he finished the glass.

"Another Severus?" Lucius asked his company.

Severus smirked and nodded, obviously enjoying the alcohol and company as much as his counterpart.

"I cannot believe it's going to be New Year's Eve tomorrow," continued Lucius, making small talk as he pulled out his wand and flicked it in elegant movements over towards a cupboard behind a dark oak writing desk. The doors of the cupboard flung open and the man flicked his wrist in a different direction this time, summoning a tall, crystal decanter from inside the cabinet.

The crystal decanter effortlessly floated over towards the two men, un-stoppering itself, it passed between the two men, topping up their glasses before returning to its home on the shelf.

Ophelia gasped. She watched as the man flicked his hand that held the wooden stick, the cupboard doors fling open and the crystal drink decanter float around as if by magic. This was a large revelation.

'_What the?_' She queried. A query directed more at herself, because let's be honest – '_who would allow themselves to dream about magic wands and floating books, crystal bottles and zooming ladders_?'

She had observed the label on the crystal bottle. '_Firewhisky_' it read. That was something she'd never heard of before, not that she was knowledgeable in the area of alcohol. She was only twelve years old after all, but she was sure that was not a common drink.

Snapping out of her distraction, Ophelia returned her still flighty attention back to Lucius. She watched as the two men continued to converse over mundane topics and seemingly enjoyed it. Shaking her head, she creased her brow in concentration. She needed to get his attention, worried that she may wake up soon without giving her experiment a go.

Ophelia concentrated harder. She allowed herself to imagine what the man would smell like, the alcohol on his breath, his cologne. She stared at him intently, imagining what she wanted him to smell like, what it would feel like if he hugged her… Oh, how she would do anything for just one hug from her father… Even a loving hug from anyone…

This thought invited her longing and sadness to return to her. Heaviness making itself presence known back in her chest and tears threatening to fall, she furiously blinked to keep them at bay.

Reaching out, she extended her hand over towards Lucius' face. Just as she was about to make contact with his cheek, Lucius raised his drink up to his lips, the glass tumbler making full contact with Ophelia's open palm.

The top of the glass shattered where it made contact with Ophelia. Lucius' launched himself up and out of the chair in surprise, alcohol spilling a little down onto his shirt and black trousers. He looked at the top of the glass and could see blood seeping fully down the edge of the tumbler at the opposite side to where his palm rested. He put the glass down and observed his hand. Not a scratch to be seen.

Confused, he turned his hand over to study the back of it. Again, not even a mark. The blood on the glass was quite a substantial amount. By this time Severus had become rigid and deadly still. He stared in the direction of Ophelia. He could see her. He could see a 'just visible' young girl staring down at her hand, a crimson stream pooling in her palm. She drew it towards her chest and clutched it tightly to herself, and automatic response to try and curb the bleeding. She appeared to be crying quite a lot.

"Ah… Lucius…" Severus gained his friend's attention.

"What is it?" Lucius asked his friend distantly, still perplexed over the body-less blood in his glass.

"Lucius… Look!" Severus replied, but this time in a lower, hushed tone.

Lucius looked over to his friend and then realised that he was pointing to a spot in front of the fire place. At first he could not see anything except of red and orange flames dancing on wooden logs. Squinting a little, he began to make out a faint shape. But before he knew it the faint shape changed into a vivid, transparent illusion of a young girl.

He stared at her. This apparition in front of him rendered him speechless. His breathing became shallow and more rapid, his mind trying to comprehend what he was seeing. She looked so much like Draco it was uncanny. Her nose bore sole resemblance to his beautiful Narcissa that had it not been for the girl's long slivery-blonde hair, he could swear it was Narcissa as a young girl.

It was then that it dawned on him. _No, it couldn't be. She's… Well, she's too old. No, my Ophelia died years ago. This cannot be. It is common lore that ghosts stay the age that they died at and my little angel died when she was days old… Oh Merlin! Oh how this ghost looks so much like my baby girl could have been…_' Lucius was becoming incredibly overwhelmed. His logical mind tried to kick in, his ego telling him that it must have been a hallucination, or that Draco must have spiked his firewhisky.

For some reason though, Lucius' soul disagreed. A weighty pit formed in his stomach, telling him that what he was seeing was real. A strong feeling of dread washed over him momentarily.

Ophelia realised in those mere seconds between the glass shattering and her realising that she had indeed cut her hand in the dream, that the two men had gone silent. She had the strangest feeling that she was being watched.

Looking up and away from her hand she realised that they could now see her. Her eyes momentarily widened as they locked with Lucius'. The iciness had gone and was replaced with a gentle and loving blue-grey gaze. All of a sudden, pain seared from the cut in her hand.

She closed her eyes tight and took in a sharp breath, willing the pain to go away. Opening her eyes again, everything was gone. The image of the two men, the library and the fireplace were replaced with a darkened room, a small bed and muffled voices coming from the other end of the house, the party appeared to be kicking on well and truly.

Even though in the back of her mind Ophelia continued to tell herself that it was all just a dream, she allowed herself to feel as though it was real. She didn't realise that there was blood on her sheet and pillow case, nor the large cut on the palm of her delicate hand.

There was no pain from it in this reality.


	4. You can't bury the already buried

****A/N - I know, I know! Long time between chapters :S I have no excuse, so I give my humble apologies :)**

**And thank you 'ashrachellexx' for your review - Um, wow, very humbling thank you "xxoo" - also, big loves to those who've 'favourited'... Er, again, wow! I'm rather lost for words :D**

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><p>You Can't Bury what's Already Buried<p>

"You saw it too Severus, tell me you saw it." Lucius anxiously asked his dark-haired friend. The vision of the little girl disappeared as soon as it had appeared, but both men had an alarming recognition of the shimmering face that had stood before them only a few seconds prior.

"Yes, well, neither of us can deny that there was definitely someone… Er… _Something_, in your study Lucius. A ghost maybe?" Severus piped up. "Though, if it was a ghost, who was it?" He questioned, eyebrows slightly raised.

Both men remained silent for a moment before Severus continued. "One thing's for certain – whatever she or it was, it was trying desperately to get your attention." He finished in his characteristically monotone style.

Lucius nodded in agreement. It was certainly unusual for a ghost of an unknown person to just appear out of nowhere unless they were attached to a particular area or object. He thought about this. Nothing came to mind where he had acquired a new book or piece of artwork recently and had placed it in the room. Nor did the ghost resemble someone he knew that had recently died… Or any one he _knew_ at all for that matter.

Though, he had an eerie suspicion that the young girl was someone he should have known. She looked exactly like his son, about the same age, her silvery-blonde hair long down her back, small, full lips… Blue-grey eyes staring intently on her cut hand, then at him. Her gaze was icy-hot and it burned a sensation of longing right through him. He couldn't help but feel as though staring into them would lead him to where he ached to be.

Then there was the blood, on the glass tumbler. That was an incredibly odd factor. Ghosts generally don't get injured, let alone bleed from injury.

The shock that shot up Lucius' arm and made him launch out of his seat, when the contact through the crystal-glass of the tumbler occurred, was what intrigued him the most. The searing heat that started in his finger-tips and travelled straight up his arm left remnants of it's presence. Warmth surrounded his heart area and filled his core, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The energy pierced his faux exterior making it difficult for him to maintain his usual cold, expressionless facade. He desperately clung to whatever composure he had left. This was an experience he wasn't prepared to share with his friend. A Malfoy never lost one's composure, even when in trustable company.

Yet, there was no denying it. The ghost of the 'little girl' that appeared in his study, regardless of the blood, was connected to him. To his family. She looked too much like a Malfoy to be just a coincidence. She also _felt_ familiar… It was hard to explain, but he felt as though he knew her better than anyone else he had ever known.

Lucius looked over at his colleague. It appeared as though Severus was thinking the exact same thing, a look of recognition apparent in his expression. Severus was indeed, racking his brain over the whole experience. His over-logical mind construed what he saw. She looked like a Malfoy. There was a very strong possibility that it was little Ophelia. His Goddaughter. The little girl he never got to meet.

But like Lucius, Severus felt it odd, that the apparition had cut itself on a solid object. Severus knew for a fact that ghosts do not cut themselves and bleed as a result.

After years of being a well-respected but not-so-popular professor at Hogwarts, Severus had learnt a great deal about many things. He knew that there were many different types of spirits and ghosts, and that glass especially that made of pure crystal, acted as a perfect bridge between the living and those on the other side of the veil. Though it was well documented, even in the muggle world by those who profess to have divination abilities, contact with the deceased occurred frequently, more than anyone could possibly realise.

This event however, was a whole new experience.

The fact that there was physical evidence left behind of the apparition's presence meant that there was a high possibility that the girl was not a ghost. It was not a very well known fact that if there was blood, it meant there had to be a body – a living one, with blood pumping through its veins. Dead bodies don't bleed, nor do they feel. The little girl had clutched her hand to her chest like an automatic response to pain. So it was easy to deduce that she could also feel physical sensation.

The more he thought about it, the more he doubted that the spirit was of a deceased girl. Severus' train of thought was taking him deeper and deeper. He knew he couldn't tell Lucius of his thoughts until he was one hundred percent sure. He did not want to raise his best friend's hopes over something so sensitive until he knew for certain that the girl was real, who she was, and whether she was still alive or a ghost with unexplainable abilities. He decided he would have to go to Dumbledore, even with the history between the older wizard and Lucius, he knew that Dumbledore would be able to shed some light on the situation at hand.

Dumbledore never missed a trick and was quite possibly, the most forgiving person Severus had ever met. There was a good chance that the outcome could be very beneficial for a number of conflicting parties, and there was a very strong potential to start bridging a few gaps.

Severus internally smirked to himself, always a true Slytherin, taking advantage of every situation. Even though there was a misconception that a Slytherin 'taking advantage' was to the detriment of someone else, Severus knew that though it happened, it was not always the case.

Severus also tossed up whether he would confer with Lucius' and his other close friend – Julius Peverell a fellow professor currently travelling the world taking up temp jobs and offering his expertise in the muggle subject of physics and his own research into how it impacts the magical world. A very smart man that one, and crazy popular with women. '_Bastard,_' Severus playfully thought, jealous of his friend's well-known sexual conquests.

Both Lucius and Severus had not seen him in a while, but he held regular correspondence with the two men, they were members of the Hogwarts alumni after all and Slytherin brothers all the way. Severus only considered for a further moment and decided that he would write Julius and tell him what happened. After all, he was sure Lucius would mention it to their friend in his next letter, so there would be no harm.

Severus looked over at Lucius, both men silent as they remained in deep thought. Severus chose then to break the silence. "You know Lucius… She, well, she did look as though…" Severus was very hesitant in the words he was choosing, knowing raising the subject of his deceased daughter would reopen poorly bandaged and painful emotions. Then again, Severus was never really that tactful but rather incredibly blunt, admitting to him-self that being direct was probably the best approach. His blonde friend now staring at him, a perfect eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly as if to say '_Well, spit it out_'.

"Lucius, that ghost, spirit, whatever it was… The girl… She, well it… Well, she certainly looked very much like a Malfoy didn't she?" He blurted out, rather surprised at his lack of poise with his words. He was being very un-Snape like.

Lucius swallowed hard. Severus confirmed what he was feeling, and it wasn't easy to take. Lucius just nodded and looked away as he responded. "Do you think that maybe… Maybe it was my little… Ophelia?" Lucius' voice was cracking. He continued to avoid his friend's eye contact.

Severus sighed and nodded. "I have my suspicions, yes." Agreeing.

Lucius looked into the fiercely burning fire. "I can't believe… She was… Older just now… But she… She died, when she was just a baby, two days old." Lucius pulled himself together as best he could, determined that this would not break him. "Could this mean that she had been alive for all these years Severus?" Desperation was obvious in his voice.

"It is… A possibility." Came the curt response. Severus was continuing to choose his words very carefully. "We don't know exactly what happened that day Lucius, at St Mungo's. Even you admitted that there were some circumstances surrounding the incident that didn't exactly match-up."

Lucius just nodded, it appeared to Severus that he was mentally reviewing the day that his daughter allegedly _died_. Though, there was nothing left of Ophelia's body to readily identify her, Lucius was told it was his daughter and he accepted it at the time, grief stricken and guilty for not being there. Though, the more he thought about it, the more he felt that there were truths that had not been spoken to him and his wife.

He asked to see his daughter's body, and he was denied such a request on the grounds that it was too horrific. Instead, one of the chief pediatricians had cut a lock of the dead child's hair and gave it to Lucius to help him remember, for comfort. He took it numbly and had placed in it a secret drawer in the desk of his study, next to a single white, woolen bootie with thin, black and pink ribbons around the top of it as fasteners, which also belonged to his daughter. He'd never honestly opened that drawer and looked at those items again.

"Twelve years…" Lucius digressed to himself. "All this time we've been mourning a loss… All these years Ophelia has possibly been alive and we didn't know it… All these years there's been the possibility that someone else has raised MY little girl and now… Now, she's truly… _Dead_…" Lucius angrily looked down to his hands in his lap this time, his voice a deadly whisper. "And again, I've done nothing," choking on the last sentence.

Realisation that his daughter had possibly been alive for so long without any sign and that now she was dead and her ghost had come to visit him… It was too much, too overwhelming. He instantly felt numb with hurt, disappointment… Rage… The complete silence slowly beginning to unhinge him. The idea that someone else raised his own flesh and blood made him sick.

To Lucius, his daughter was a semblance of purity. Of the two days he got to hold her, talk to her, touch her, he believed that no one would ever experience anything like he had with Ophelia. But now, the tiniest thought of someone like a Mudblood even just look at his daughter, let alone raise her in a non-magical society, made his skin crawl. She deserved a life in a family where she belonged, where she wasn't different. His fears escalating with worry that his little girl had been treated horribly because a muggle might think she was a freak. He couldn't accept it, it was too much.

'_No, no, these thoughts won't do… Merlin's pants,_' he thought. '_I must pull my head out and find out truly what happened to her… I must find her, her body. I owe it to her. I owe it to Narcissa and Draco. If you're going to get a chance to redeem yourself for your transgressions Lucius, this is your chance. Ophelia may be dead, but I owe it to her… I just hope one day, I will meet her again and when I do, I will beg for her forgiveness. I owe it to her… Even if I don't deserve it._'

Severus just watched his friend mentally torture himself. He watched Lucius go slowly within, seething yet hopelessly sad. He thought correctly that Lucius was berating himself for again not saving his little girl, though that wasn't difficult to conclude, for he knew the man better than most. Though it was impossible for many, Severus could read his friend like a book.

He cleared his throat, bringing Lucius out of his thoughts. "If you would like Lucius, I can take a sample of the blood from your glass and try to work out who the girl is," Severus offered. Lucius nodded in silent appreciation.

Whipping out his wand, Severus pointed it at the blood on the broken glass and wordlessly summoned the clotting liquid into an empty vial. It was handy being a potions professor sometimes. He then stoppered the tube to preserve the blood as it was at that point. The first test he would run would be a paternity test. Lucius compliantly offered his arm, slicing a large gash across the inside of his right forearm with his own wand using a controlled form of the sectrum-sempra. He felt stinging in the soft flesh of his arm as blood began to flow out and into another empty vial. Again, the tube was stoppered to preserve the second specimen.

Lucius was grateful of Severus' offer. Just like a typical Malfoy, he was too proud to ask, but he desperately needed to know if she was his daughter. He would never have taken the sample to St Mungo's for testing either. He only had private healers take care of his family now. He didn't trust St Mungo's staff. As well as the fact that it was too public, people would talk, and again just like a typical Malfoy, he was painfully private and would quite happily Avada Kedavra anyone who chose to try and expose his private side. He had no qualms in taking something so precious of someone, who took anything precious from him, though it wouldn't be even. Lucius charged interest when he punished someone.

Life for an eye when it came to Lucius Malfoy.


	5. Conversations and Consultations

__Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape or form intending to steal or infringe on copyrights owned by JK Rowling or Warner Bros. I do not claim to own any of the following that is linked to the Harry Potter saga, which was created and is credited to JK Rowling, who in my opinion is a genius. This story is purely for fun and no profit is being made from this. I own Ophelia and the basic storyline. But it is a little canon and draws on concepts from the older and future plots also. That is all.__

**Thank you GemmaKaz for your review! Thank you, thank you! I certainly do not expect any reads or reviews, but when I get reviews like I have from you, ashrachellexx and pourquiobella, well, that's just, I'm literally lost for words. When I write, I write with the hope that there is just one reader out there who gets the same pleasure that I do when I write it! I do hope that if someone has a critique about this story that they tell me too!**

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><p>Correspondence and Consultations<p>

Lucius sat, absorbing the darkness of his study, a faint glow coming from the fire place. His wife was having guests over, a tradition of hers every January 4 to honor the year ahead. But this year, Lucius's celebrations extended to bottle after bottle of forty-proof Firewhisky, a childish refusal to shave and a seething sulk like no one has ever sulked before, locking him-self away from the world.

He was the perfect picture of a child protesting because he was not getting things his way, only a much bigger and more adult version.

But then again, he always had this streak in him, growing up as an only child, incredibly spoilt and oh-so bratty. He'd changed quite a lot when he married Narcissa however, and though it was a pre-arranged marriage, they grew fond of each other very quickly, which not long after turned into a deep love and respect. When they found out that they were expecting, they both vowed and declared they would not raise their child the way they had been raised. They would in the least, attempt to give the child morals.

Lucius digressed on this. He failed in this as well. Draco, as proud as he was of his son and heir, had acquired traits just like his father's, but some of those traits were definitely undesirable and ones that Lucius had hoped Draco wouldn't have learnt. But alas, he was his son and he loved him no less.

Lucius was convinced of course, that things would have been different had little Ophelia been there with them. With him. He thought about her incessantly since the incident with Severus a few evenings prior. He still had not told anyone about it, and hoped that Severus too would not have told anyone. Though, there was one person Lucius knew he could speak to about his, predicament, if one could call it that, his long-time confidant and best friend, Julius Peverell. However, Lucius had even deliberated over this decision for the past four days.

The little baby-booty and lock of hair sat on his desk in front of him, torturing him to do something. And in his half-pissed state he made the decision.

Summoning over a spare piece of thick parchment, quill and ink pot, he bit his bottom lip in deep concentration. He tried to neatly scrawl a letter to his best friend without trying to give away his intoxicated state, as that would be terribly un-Lucius like indeed.

"_Julius,_

_My brother, it has been again, too long. Where on earth are you now, you crazy man? No doubt in a hot-bed of gorgeous broads, making their day and leaving with a satisfied smile – you old dog. I must say, Narcissa is right about you. _

_And, for the record, I know for a fact that young Severus remains terribly jealous of your, "talents"._

_Enough of the usual nonsense and banter however, I have a concern that I'd like to discuss with you. _

_As you are aware, the loss of my little Ophelia has, well, never left me as the same man as I once was. Up until a few nights ago, I honestly thought that I could feel no worse about being a pathetic excuse for a father, accepting that she died at St Mungo's two days after her birth. _

_Julius, I cannot reveal too much detail to you in this letter, for fear of suspicious and prying eyes, but I have strong reason to believe that though I know my daughter is dead now, she had been alive for a lot longer than I was made to accept. A lot longer._

_I apologise that this seems completely at odds. But I need to speak with you, somewhere private and sometime soon. I need to know what happened to her, I want to bring my little girl peace wherever she may be and you are one of the only people I trust._

_I'll await your response._

_Lucius_

The blonde man summoned an envelope over to the desk where he was sitting. With a flick of his wand, the parchment neatly folded itself perfectly in half and sealed itself in the envelope. The black, waxed Malfoy insignia sealing the contents securely inside. Another flick of the wand placed a protective enchantment on the package. Lucius was not about to take any chances. Writing only recipient's name on the front-side, Lucius called for his house-elf.

*POP*

Guppy appeared in the study. He had to blink rapidly for a few moments to adjust to the unusual darkness in the room. He quickly found his master sitting at the writing desk, an envelope in one hand, his head bowed over and resting in the other which was supported on the desk. Guppy could tell that his master had been drinking Firewhisky again, correction, was still drinking Firewhisky.

Guppy approached the mess that was his master.

"Master?" He gently called.

Lucius's head flung up, probably a little too quickly as the room began to cautiously spin.

"Yes, er… Guppy… Er, take this to Master Julius Peverell, and make sure that no one gets this but him. Do you understand? Guard this with your life." He commanded, probably a little too harshly.

Guppy simply nodded and took the envelope, disappearing before Lucius could get proper focus on the elf. Though, in his current state, he doubt he could even focus on the chair he was sitting on. Feeling rather uncomfortable and ready for a nap, Lucius swayed his way over to the chairs in front of the fireplace and sat in his favourite black leather one. Well, he more fell into it, knocking over a side table as he went. He was not a graceful drunk by any standards.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" He growled. With a wave of his wand the table up-righted itself, but its contents still on the floor where they fell and this went unnoticed as a pre-comatose Lucius closed his eyes, and deep, sleep snoring made its presence.

Guppy reappeared in the study to tell his master that Mr Peverell had received the letter. He found Lucius in a rather awkward position on the leather chair, snoring very loudly. Guppy rolled his eyes and moved over to the drunk. He picked up the items that were strewn all over the floor and placed them back onto the table.

He then disappeared for a short moment before reappearing with a warm blanket and soft pillow. Placing them around his master, Guppy felt much more content that his master would sleep better. He didn't think though, that the arm twisted up underneath such body weight and a leg dangling over the arm of the chair would provide a fully comfortable slumber. But this was his master, his drunk master, and Guppy knew better than to make him angry.

He mused that in the morning a full, greasy breakfast and a pick-me-up potion might be needed, Guppy left his master in the study and headed back towards the kitchens to help the other elves prepare dessert for Narcissa and her guests.

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"_Julius,_

_I hear you're traipsing your way around the southern parts of the globe. _

_Typical._

_I thought you should know, Lucius is becoming progressively more depressed and obsessed with Ophelia's death. I am not sure if he has wrote you, but there may be more to her disappearance than we all originally suspected and Lucius is entering terribly dangerous territory – his emotions._

_We had this, "episode" the night before New Year's Eve, which I believe you may be very interested in hearing about. Plus I need your opinion on something, and I do not want to discuss it with Lucius until I am one hundred per-cent certain. He is a very fragile man, I'm afraid I might push him into doing something stupid – you know what he's like, the bloody fool._

_Being as good associates as we are of his, I thought it would be my duty to tell you. If you can get away from your harem of ladies, it would be… Nice… To see you again._

_As always, please remember to put on a pair of pants in the very least, before you come to visit. We don't want another "last time" now do we?_

_Severus"_

As he threw the postal floo-powder into his office's fireplace, he called "Canterbury School for Witches" and the flames instantly turned purple. Tossing the addressed envelope into the flames, it automatically disappeared without a trace.

Severus would never admit it, but he was so happy when Dumbledore agreed with Professor McGonagall to get a postal network set-up through the teacher's floo network at Hogwarts. So much more reliable and speedier than owl-post, especially for overseas correspondence – New Zealand is after all a bit too far for an owl to fly. Though, he argued that he remained a traditionalist, still using the regular method for nearer to home posts.

_**Three days earlier…**_

The post-New Year holidays had ended way too quickly, with the insufferable students returning to Hogwarts much sooner than Severus would have preferred. Deciding that being an extra bastard would make him feel better, he would take off more house-points than usual from the Hufflepuffs and Potter, Weasley and Granger, strictly for his amusement.

Taking a quiet moment one evening from marking second-years essays on the magical properties of Astragalus Root, he penned the letter to Julius. He had considered sending one as soon as he returned from visiting Lucius, but he had to be sure that the apparition was indeed Ophelia. He began to brew a 'paternus decerno' potion the following day using the sample of blood taken from Lucius, with the potion needing a base sample to determine if the other person's blood was infact similar. It would take at least three days to be ready to test the blood he took from the glass.

Sure enough his suspicions were confirmed. When he dropped the potion onto a piece of goatskin parchment and mixed in a small drop of the blood three days later, the liquid turned silver and scrawled its way over the paper, like it was pushed by an invisible quill. It wrote the names of the person to whom the blood belonged and three generations back of a family tree.

Sure enough, "_**Ophelia**_ _**Luciarna**_ _**Malfoy**_" appeared at the bottom of the parchment in bold letters, followed by lines leading upwards and outwards identifying the bloodline from which this blood had come from… Father: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy… Mother: Narcissa Ariarna Malfoy (Black)… The list went on, naming both maternal and paternal grandparents and great-grandparents, as if there was any doubt.

Severus considered that there may have been a bit of Lucius's own saliva mixed with the blood, but it wouldn't explain Ophelia's name coming up on the parchment if the blood wasn't hers. This test was infallible, there was no other explanation except for the fact that this was Lucius's Ophelia, his god-daughter and that there was every possibility she was alive.

This raised a million questions and ideas in his head. _How did she project herself into the study that night? Does she know who she is? Surely she knows she's a witch… Right?_

'_She must know she's a witch_,' he determined, '_only a well-practiced witch knows how to project themselves while remaining fully attached to the physical body_.' Even then, this was very old magic, if it was what Severus suspected it was. '_That means she must be very well advanced for her age, she'd only be twelve after all… Lucius will be pleased with that, let alone the fact that she isn't a squib.'_

It was at this point, deep in thought, Severus decided to write to Julius.

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Lucius awoke quite late the following morning. Incredibly stiff and numb down one side, his head throbbing harder than a sledge hammer trying to smash through marble. Hangovers did not get any better with experience or age. He actually figured that they had progressively got worse overtime and he had noticed his recovery time was getting longer and longer. He would have to speak to Severus about this and see if he could come up with a new hangover cure.

It took a good minute to regain full sensation and movement in his arm as he had not changed positions all night, passing out rather heavily. He had a blotchy memory of the evening prior, and couldn't determine whether he made up he had written to Julius, or if he had actually done it.

'_Oh Merlin,'_ he thought, _'I'd better write to him today, just in case I dreamed it. First things first though… Pick me up potion and a full English breakfast – deep fried.'_

Guppy appeared before Lucius could summon him, a full tray of a delectable breakfast goodies – a hangover's one true friend.

"Why, thank you Guppy," Lucius said. "I believe a little energy boosting potion might…"

But before Lucius could continue, Guppy simply answered but looking a little flustered, "I've placed two on your tray Master. If it pleases you, Guppy has to go back to cleaning up from the party last night."

'_So Narcissa had a big night too… I see why Guppy is on the hangover round this morning.' _He chuckled to himself raising an eyebrow to himself.

Lucius gave a sharp nod in thanks and downed both potions in a second. The throbbing in his skull ceased instantly and the urge to want to run a marathon pumped through his veins, but the smell of breakfast brought him back to reality as he raised the cloche.

Chewing though a fat sausage, Lucius' mind strategically went over what he knew, what he wanted to know, and the different possibilities of how he was going to find out. This new rebirth of the real Lucius Malfoy, he put down to the potions, but he was going to go with it for as long as possible. He could play the naughty-child well but it did not suit a man of aristocracy.

Plans scheming in his mind, the man stood and strolled quietly into his bedroom, so as not to disturb his possibly very hung-over wife, who at this time might be full of emotion. Gently as he crept in through the door, he noticed his wife had devoured a large portion of her breakfast, the tray casually strewn on the bedside table. The woman lying ungraceful and unconscious in the middle of the bed, head back slightly and little snores escaping. He smirked. Yes, she had a late one indeed. He observed that she had not managed to remove one of her heels and the dress she was wearing was scattered on the floor, she managed to make it to the underwear stage before unconsciousness apparently took over.

Given these observations, Lucius wouldn't expect to see his wife until well after lunch, giving him time to really plot out his intentions… He had suspected all along that it was either Voldemort or the Order of the Phoenix that were involved in the now 'alleged' death of his daughter twelve years ago, and this is where he would start.

As he stepped his weary body into the hot water and sunk down into the deep bath to refresh his body and rejuvenate his mind, Lucius remembered all those years ago...

There had been a lot of dirty tactics played by both sides in the first war, trying to recruit followers for 'the cause'. And then when the saga went down over that Potter boy, that's when he knew, Voldemort had really gone off the rails. Potter was just an innocent baby after all, and because of the murder of his parents James and Lily, who were in fact close associates of Lucius and Narcissa's in those days, was now an orphan one because of a disagreement between two powerful wizards which spilled over into society. He didn't doubt Dumbledore nearly as much as he doubted Voldemort, but he would never intentionally cross either of them or trust them.

Though, in the past eighteen months, Lucius had really started to cause a negative-stir with Dumbledore further, disagreeing with some of the decisions he had made in regards to Hogwarts and in particular, Potter. He had also heard stories along the grapevine that Dumbledore too had ideas of grandeur in his youth about blood-purity and dalliances with Gellert Grindlewald, another infamous dark wizard. It's amazing what you hear when you get that old codger, Elphias Dodge, on the turps.

After this drunken conversation with Dodge, the ex-Order of the Phoenix member, Lucius's perception of Dumbledore changed dramatically, and made him question his own actions back in the first war. Of course he had been publically put on trial in front of the Wizengamot for conspiring with the Dark Lord by none other than Dumbledore himself, making him hate the fool and wanting revenge. Yes, he was amongst Voldemort's inner ranks, but no, he did not do his dirty work, Lucius was much too clever for that.

He pleaded privately with Dumbledore at the time, trying to convince him of the truth, he was merely in the ranks of the Death Eaters because he suspected they killed his child and he wanted revenge. Dumbledore did not grant him clemency, citing that there was no evidence to his claims.

He got off on a lesser charge and one that bought no further penalty by saying that he had been working under the Imperius Curse. Though, this to Lucius was just as insulting. No Malfoy would ever fall trap to the Imperius. And henceforth, the growing hate towards Dumbledore in the subsequent years.

He thought about the current tense, and how the war had changed many. He told Draco in his first year to befriend the Potter boy, give him assistance and remind him of whom he truly is. That failed dramatically. Lucius put this down to how he and Narcissa had inadvertently raised Draco to feel superior to everyone else, arrogance as a result of mistrust in many, and now there was a common feud going on between him and Potter, and Potter's loathly friends – the ginger and the Mudblood. Lucius shuddered; someone of Potter's caliber should be mixing with a much better crowd.

Though, he was already determinedly working on fixing Potter's social circle. Bringing down the ginger kid's family, the _Weasley_ clan, and sending the mud-blood back into her own world. This he had so far succeeded in doing, by slipping the youngest Weasley, the girl, Voldemort's diary during the altercation with Arthur Weasley in Diagon Alley those few months ago. He too hated that man; he was the one that claimed evidence against Lucius during the trials of the first war. That man was going to pay.

Lucius knew that it would put some of the students in jeopardy by opening the Chamber of Secrets, oh yes… He knew full well what that diary would do, the power it holds. But, it provided him with an opportunity of revenge at Dumbledore and that Weasley senior, it offered him the chance to rid the school of mud-bloods and it was the chance he needed to restore the magical world and requite the injustice this tainted world had done to his family.

His plan was concocted.


	6. Brotherly Love

Brotherly Love

Draco left the Slytherin dormitory early. It was a Tuesday in not quite mid-January, and he had double potions first up. Unlike most of the students at Hogwarts, he got along very well with Professor Snape, but only because of his father's close friendship with him. He appreciated however, the Professor's passion for potions, and was doing very well in the class because he was genuinely good at making the perfect brew, despite the teacher's pet rumours.

Seating himself at Slytherin's long table in the main hall, Draco relished in the moment of being alone, knowing his two "friends", Crabbe and Goyle were not yet awake. As much as he appreciated having company, the fact that the two boys couldn't string a sentence together between them made Draco lose all tolerance and patience for them in most occasions. They really did make the term _pureblood_ much less absolute. The worst of it happened just before leaving for Christmas break, with Crabbe and Goyle acting the strangest he'd ever seen them. And Goyle, who knew he could read? He was generally just so dense.

Tucking into his poached eggs on toast, Draco watched as a small but steady trickle of students entered the hall and sat themselves at their respective tables. He watched as Potter entered with Weasley, both of them looking displaced and glum. Draco sneered at them before turning it into a malicious grin. He remembered that the Mudblood had been petrified the day prior, and was now in the hospital wing waiting to be administered mandrake juice to reverse the petrification. She was rendered unresponsive and stiff as a board for at least the next couple of weeks, and this made Draco quite happy. It was an awful thought, to want someone to not exist because they represented everything you despised, but Draco reasoned it was more because her kind challenged the very belief that his kind had been raised with. It can be difficult to change beliefs and see reason when it breaks all the rules of your up-bringing, so Draco sympathised with his parents.

Draco decided that during the midday break he would write home to his parents to advise them that the Mudblood had indeed been petrified. He was sure this news would please them, especially his father.

Draco hadn't realised but Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had been returning the nasty stare. Looking up at them again, Draco merely raised an eyebrow at them and then looked back down at his plate making it quite clear to the two Gryffindor's that the half-eaten eggs were much more fun to watch than their sour expressions.

Moving off to double potions, Draco was caught up to by Goyle and Crabbe who had busily stuffed their faces with as much breakfast as possible, before putting a couple of muffins into their pockets for their travels to the dungeons for first lesson. Draco rolled his eyes, they certainly appeared to be back to their normal selves.

"In today's class we will be learning to make the _mişca_ _abur_ potion, which you should all know has the main ingredient of Astragalus root. Who here can tell me what this potion, if made correctly, should do?" Said Professor Snape as he entered the class room and glided his way to the front of the class. He proceeded to pick up some chalk and write on the black board, the ingredients and method for making the potion.

Not one hand raised in the air. Professor Snape was not even remotely surprised. Without the insufferable know-it-all in the class, he doubted he would get an answer from anyone. He sighed.

"The _mişca_ _abur_ is roughly translated from Dacian-Romanian – to move/transfer (_mişca_) like steam or vapour (_abur_)," continuing on. "So by the end of today's double lesson, I expect to see potions that will cause an out-of-body experience. You have an hour and thirty minutes, commence."

The class murmured their understanding and began to move away towards the storeroom to collect their ingredients.

One Hufflepuff student raised his hand. "Um, Professor, is this 'out-of-body' experience like taking the muggle equivalent to illicit substances?" A Ravenclaw student nearby giggled.

Professor Snape on the other hand did not find this amusing. "No you fool. This potion is nothing like what a muggle would take to get a 'perception' of the experience. If done correctly, others will be able to see the life essence, or soul, raise itself out of the physical body. The potion you are brewing is very weak and you will only leave your body for a maximum of thirty seconds, before the essence is gently brought back to the physical world. You now only have an hour and twenty-five minutes to complete this task. I suggest you get a move on."

And with that, the class hurriedly got stuck into their potions brewing. As Draco was busily chopping his Astragalus root, he turned his back to his cauldron to look at the board for further instructions and then back to his potions book to make sure what he was doing was correct. In that time, Ron had leant over to Draco's table and slipped in a few extra drops of _bibo_ _pot__e__ns_ which was what gave the potion its strength into Draco's cauldron.

By the end of the class, most had been able to make a satisfactory potion, and so were able to try out its effects. One by one, each student had an actual out-of-body experience, and the rest of the class could see the shimmering essence hover above their bodies before gently coming back to physical earth.

Neville Longbottom foolishly drank his standing up. When he re-entered his body, he could not understand why he had such a headache until it was explained to him by Harry and Ron that he fell backwards and cracked his head on the table. The rest of the class were in fits of laughter.

Finally, it came around to Draco's turn. He took a scoop out of his cauldron and put it into the glass cup. He sat on the floor and leant his back against the cupboard. Taking a huge gulp he winced at the sour taste. Nothing seemed to happen, he was still sitting there. Disappointed, Draco pushed against the ground to stand up, all the while trying to determine where he went wrong during the brewing process. Before he realised what happened, he felt as though he was being catapulted through the air, before being dragged back into a physical body.

He looked around, confused. It was hot… Very, very hot and he was outside. It appeared to be coming on sunrise… No, sunset, it looked as though the sun was setting. His heart started to beat, hard and fast.

'_Have I time travelled or something?'_ He thought to himself. He had read this potion over and over, he followed the instructions perfectly. _'What on earth is happening?'_

He could feel a presence behind him, and the body he was in started to run, fast. He managed a quick look down… _'Merlin! I have breasts!'_

Frantic wasn't the word. All of a sudden, Draco realised that he was in a girl's body. This was not right. Nowhere in the potions book did it say you could be transported into the body of the opposite sex. No, no, no, this was NOT happening.

The presence behind him/the girl had started to catch up. He tried to make the owner of the body push it harder, but he could feel that she was fatiguing, and quickly. The heat from the sun, though setting was blistering. He could feel the person behind her catch up and grabbed her, whipping her around. The girl's long, slivery-blonde ponytail had flung itself momentarily into her face, Draco catching a long look at it. _'Wow, at least we have the same hair colour,'_ he mused.

"Darcy!" Screamed the girl, "let me go!" She pushed at the boy, but he was much too strong for her and his grip tightened around her arms.

"Or what?" He pushed her and she fell backwards. "It's not like you have anyone to run to now is it? You family-less little freak. No one wants you. I mean, you're the first foster kid we've had that hasn't actually ever had a real family to begin with." Darcy raised his foot and stomped down on the girl's ribs.

She felt as though the wind had been completely blown out of her. She was grateful that she didn't hear or feel and cracking noises, it was a good sign that everything was still intact.

"Now you listen to me, and you listen well. I am superior to you, I am better than you in many ways. And, no, it's not just because I have a family. You will learn to respect me and what I am. You are filth, do you understand." Darcy was giving out commands as though he was omnipotent.

Before Ophelia could respond, Darcy landed another three kicks into her side, the final one she felt something give way. The pain was excruciating. Draco, being trapped inside the body being just a mere spectator to the show was getting angrier and angrier. One thing he had been raised with was that no man had the right to hit a woman.

His anger boiled over. His father's short fuse was something he had inherited. He fought hard inside the girl's body, fighting her own will to stay on the ground. He searched inwardly to the other person trapped inside, and was surprised by what he found. It was a feeling more than a sight. Just a raw, overwhelming emotion.

He felt sadness, emotional pain, loneliness and a desperate longing. He knew he had found the essence of the girl, now all he had to do was communicate with it. Just as he had the thought of communicating with it however, it seemed to have responded to his presence. He felt a change. He felt a continuous stream of communication between himself and the girl. He felt her entire story all in one feeling. He didn't know how to describe it, or how he deciphered it. He just knew. It was like he had known all along, he just needed to remember it, and in that itself, it felt complete.

Using all of his strength to pull away from her, he overtook her control within the body, and made it stand up. He knew that it was causing her pain, but he was not going to let this girl be beaten again. Not now, not ever. In that split second, he had grown to care for her more than anyone he had ever known. It felt as though they were of the other.

Darcy had turned and began to jog back to the house as though nothing had happened.

"Hey, you! Yeah, arse hole! You haven't dealt with me yet." Draco's anger and protective streak kicking in. He realised that being in the girl's body, which was much smaller than the boy's was going to require as much concentration and strength as possible, and a pot load of luck.

Darcy turned towards where Ophelia stood. Sucking in his chest, he marched angrily towards her. As he approached he looked straight into her eyes as a means to intimidate her. He was surprised that she was standing quite straight seeing as he could've sworn a rib or two had cracked.

"That's right, loser. I said you haven't dealt with ME." Draco's rage grew. He was preparing to beat the boy to a pulp. Darcy stared at Ophelia. He looked long and hard at her. Before Darcy could react, Draco had clenched Ophelia's fist tight and pummelled it straight into Darcy's nose. It felt like the punch of the century to Ophelia, who despite the pain in her ribs, felt strangely comforted by the possession smacking Darcy in the face.

"Now, _you_ listen to me and _you_ listen well. You never, ever touch this girl again, do you understand me _bitch_?" Draco remained fuming but in control. Darcy, irate and in pain, looked through watery eyes and nodded at Ophelia.

"Yes Ophelia, I _swear_, I won't _touch_ you." Darcy promised.

Draco froze. _'Did he just say, Ophelia?'_

"What did you just call me?" Draco asked. "Ophelia you dumb bitch, don't you even know your own name?" Darcy replied.

*SMACK*

Draco, without thinking reacted in pure rage, landing a second blow on Darcy, hitting him square in the jaw. "DON'T YOU EVER HIT MY SISTER AGAIN? DON'T YOU EVER CALL HER A DUMB BITCH! DO YOU HEAR ME? I WILL GET YOU FOR THIS!" Draco screamed.

Darcy by this time was sitting flat on his arse on the ground. He had no idea girls could hit so hard. He was oblivious to Draco's ranting and the fact that Ophelia seemed to be referring to herself in third person.

Ophelia on the other hand, was in shock. _'Sister?'_

Draco walked Ophelia's body away from where the fight occurred. They sat down on a cut stump to the side of the running track. As Ophelia conjured the strength to reconnect with who or what is in her body besides her, she got an overwhelming feeling of oneness and love, and the feeling as though everything was going to be okay. She tried to hang onto that feeling, but could feel the other self being pulled away and herself feeling light headed.

'_Sister, I promise I will find you, stay safe. It's all going to be okay.'_

Draco reluctantly felt himself being flung backwards and landing with a ghostly thud, back into consciousness, his own body, and the cold, dungeon floor of the potions classroom.

"Draco?" Came Professor Snape's voice, "Draco? Are you with us?"


	7. Lose Friends & Manipulate People part 1

How to Lose Friends and Manipulate People – Part One

"I'm going out, don't expect me home for dinner," was all Narcissa heard as her husband stomped determinedly out of the Manor that morning.

He had really distanced himself these last few days from her. She had noticed his demeanour changing, how much more often he locked himself in the study, drinking firewhisky. That's all he had really been doing, drinking, and she was worried. He had hardly spoken to her, it was as though he was pulling away.

Lucius on the other hand was purely, just more focused. He didn't notice his wife's looks of hurt and confusion when he came home late and chose not to spend time with her, how he hardly held her in bed, and just general loneliness on her behalf. His obsession with finding the truth was driving a wedge between them and he could not see it for his preoccupation clouding their life as a family.

He looked up at his destination. The foreboding darkness that was Azkaban sent chills throughout his body, goose-bumps rose on his arms. He shuddered and pulled his coat closer around his exposed neck. Taking a deep breath, he allowed blackness to seep into his heart as he stepped through the doorway of the prison, his steely mask on display.

He had gone over and over this plan, how he was going to get into the cells of captured death eaters, two in particular, and get the information he was looking for. He knew that he could be _very_ persuasive when need be. He was Lucius Malfoy after all, not a saint.

Holding out the ministry-sealed parchment, the guard at the front desk snatched it out of Lucius' gloved hand. The guard eyed him judgingly as he knew the blond well from the tabloids and was one of the many who felt this man to be guilty.

The guard raised his eye-brows as he read the contents of the ministry's letter. It was personal correspondence from the Minister himself, Cornelius Fudge. He looked at Lucius with a distrustful expression but merely nodded in response to the letter. How he managed approval from the Minister to enter the maximum security area was rather disbelieving on the guard's behalf, but being a skilled auror, he could tell that this was definitely an order from Minister Fudge, and therefore did not question it.

Lucius could read this guard's expression, he knew that the guard was surprised the Minister gave approval for Lucius to enter the high-security area of the prison, let alone allow him the opportunity to rub shoulders with the most nefarious criminals of the time – the Death Eaters. Lucius, again, could be very persuasive, besides, he had family in that section, and they were precisely the people he was there to see. It was an easy win with the Minister to sign approval given this fact.

"Your wand, Mr Malfoy," the guard requested.

Lucius snapped back to the present and stared at him for a moment, narrowing his gaze. Suppressing a deep exhale, Lucius handed over his wand - elm, eleven and a half inches, dragon-heart string. The guard looked at Lucius suspiciously, as though he knew the man was up to something. Lucius merely raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You know, I do play by the rules occasionally," Lucius hissed at the guard and smirked arrogantly.

The guard nodded whilst placing Lucius' wand in the vault behind the desk. Before Lucius could register what was happening, the guard had turned around swiftly, his wand pointing directly at Lucius' chest. Lucius flinched in reaction before putting across his cold expression once more and raised a questioning brow.

Without further thought, the guard flicked his wand up-ward sharply muttering "arma-ostendo" under his breath, casting a yellowish hue over Lucius. Lucius this time expressed the deeply held breath. _Stupid auror can't even produce a silent weapon revealing charm, and he's here to prevent criminals from escaping… pathetic_.

Lucius snorted at this thought, it wasn't even a strong enough charm to reveal the contents of a magically concealed pocket in Lucius' robes. _Pathetic_, he repeated to himself. He had really taken a gamble on concealing the items that he had in the first place and he generally did not take gambles, being the precise type of wizard that he was. No room for errors kind of deal.

Finally, the guard spoke once more, "you seem to be all clear. Right this way then Mr Malfoy," and turned off in the direction of the narrow, damp stair case. Twisting and turning, on and on, the stairs continued, the musty-darkness of the walkway was constricting, before the two men finally reached their destination.

Lucius shuddered at the thought that this could have been his fate only years before as he stepped into a room that any claustrophobic would react to. The roof was low and walled in, the floors rough and the space dingy, as though someone squared out a cave for the sake of making more room. Taking up the centre of the room were a dark, metal table and chairs facing opposite one another. Lucius took a seat on one side. He could not see the table top clearly for the room was poorly lit, but he could only imagine the unhygienic surface in front of him and the vile sticky spots that he presumed would be present following certain visitations. He felt nauseated instantly.

"You have an hour Mr Malfoy, there is another guard at the end of the hallway should you have any issues." The guard said curtly before strutting back to his post at the front desk.

Lucius Malfoy smiled inwardly to himself, _'well, getting in was much easier than expected'_. Though he knew his task at hand was not going to be all smooth sailing.

As the door behind him creaked slowly open once more, Lucius felt the room temperature instantly drop ten degrees as his brother-in-law shuffled towards him, shackled in chains. There must have been a Dementor guarding the door. The prisoner's emaciated appearance shocked Lucius somewhat, he really didn't know what to expect, but honestly, what came through the door should not have surprised him as much as it did.

Rodolphus Lestrange, the wife's sister's husband, stood weakly in Lucius' presence. He merely nodded in acknowledgement then proceeded to seat himself on the other cold metal stool across the table from where Lucius positioned himself.

Lucius studied Rodolphus. He could see that Rodolphus was now a broken man, but probably remained just as unintelligent and highly suggestible as he had ever been. Lucius would use these points to his advantage. Though he didn't think his darling sister-in-law Bellatrix would be so easy. She was wild and unbalanced before she was incarcerated, the Azkaban madness would only feed her love for depravity even more. Lucius shuddered at the thought. But then again, she also had her weaknesses being human after all and he would have no hesitation in finding them out and using them against her if it ever came to that.

"Well, well, well," Rodolphus broke the men's silent staring match, "My cheerful brother-in-law Lucius Malfoy is tarnishing is prefect reputation to finally come visit me in Azkaban... How touching." He sniggered to himself, "you know it's lucky you got off from those charges, these yellow prison robes would do no favours to your complexion." His bite was a pathetic attempt on Lucius' soft option of claiming the imperious curse all those years ago and the Malfoy trademark vanity.

Whether it affected Lucius, he did not show it. He just merely stared back at the man, before looking down to wipe away invisible lint on his own, perfectly cleaned and pressed robes, "Nice to see you to Lestrange. You're looking like a train wreck, as always. It truly is insulting to be related to you, even if it is only through marriage. It's really tragic to see you failing as a prisoner in Azkaban just as you were failing as a wizard and really just as a human, in the real world. You know, you'd even make a terrible muggle…" Lucius continued to look around the small, cold room that they were in, scrunching up his nose in disgust. He was very glad that he did not have to call this place home.

"Cut the chit-chat Lucius," Rodolphus bit. "What are you doing here?"

Lucius gave a mocked impression of being offended before sniggering, "Oh come now, you haven't had a visitor since you've got here, the least you could do is be nice." Lucius stared at Rodolphus now, smirking, "I really love what you and Bellatrix have done with the place by the way," sarcasm dripping off every word.

Rodolphus looked contemptible. "Honestly Malfoy – what do you want? I have another however many years of my life left in this place and the one thing they could have afforded me is to not be visited by a ponce like _you_".

Lucius dropped his smirk of satisfaction, allowing his frozen stare to penetrate into Rodolphus' eyes. It made the prisoner slightly unnerved and shift on the stool. Lucius was many things, but he was not a ponce.

"Well, if you must know _Lestrange_," Lucius placed a bitter hiss on the man's name as though it made an unpleasant taste in his mouth whenever he spoke it. "I am here simply for the truth. You just happen to be the first of many people on my list to ah, _visit_, if you wish to call it that."

"The truth? About what?" Rodolphus went a little vague. "And who else are you meant to be visiting?"

"The truth about my daughter," was the icy response. "And I will be the one asking questions, fool." Lucius' tolerance was running in the opposite direction very quickly.

Rodolphus remained quiet, if not, slightly unsure about what exactly Lucius wanted to know, or how much Lucius actually _knew_ about his daughter.

"Tell me Lestrange – what do you know about the _accident_ at the hospital?" Lucius continued.

Rodolphus shrugged his shoulders. "It was a long time ago," was his response. He was not prepared to give away anything that he knew about the incident. Rodolphus was not in a position of advantage right at that moment, he had to play this conversation right.

Lucius looked at him, thinking of what next to say. Like Rodolphus, he was not prepared to show all of his cards at once. The two men just stared at each other in tense silence; they knew that they could never trust any other Death Eaters except for themselves. Everyone had an agenda and the outcomes were always for purely selfish purposes.

"It has recently come to my attention," Lucius spoke again changing his approach, "that there has been new _information_ about my little Ophelia. And I am very interested in finding out whether or not it's true."

"Well then," said Rodolphus leaning back slightly, "that would depend on whether you've _heard_ the same stories that I have…" Trailing off to bait Lucius into revealing more about what he knew.

The blonde man though was not that stupid. "That's very true indeed," Lucius' response was that of irritation, "but that was a very unproductive answer Lestrange. You are trying my patience."

Rodolphus smiled nastily. He enjoyed bristling Lucius' temper, especially when he knew Lucius was on a time limit and a Malfoy would almost always walk away with what they wanted. Rodolphus was determined not to let that happen on this day.

"Let's try this again." Lucius' sentences started to reflect his growing irritability at the pathetic man sitting across from him. "You seem to think that because you are in Azkaban, life cannot possibly get any worse. I promise you that if you do not tell me what I require, you'll think that ten years in Azkaban was like a day at the fucking circus once I'm finished with you, do you understand me?"

Rodolphus paled a little but remained silent, Lucius was definitely a man of his word in these kinds of situations. And Lucius knew that Rodolphus was never able to hide his emotions as well as many of the other Death Eaters, but he would continue to put up an exhausted façade nonetheless.

Lucius' jaw twitched in part frustration and part celebration, as he watched Rodolphus fight to maintain a calm impression, so he decided to add to his companion's discomfort.

Reaching into the inside of his outer robe, Lucius took out a vial filled with a thick, bright red liquid and a short jadeite knife, its green blade almost luminous and out of place in the dank, darkness of Azkaban.

A small chuckle rumbled in Lucius' throat as he watched Rodolphus' expression, while making his way over to the other side of the room where the prisoner was seated. "Do you know what this is Lestrange?" Lucius spoke in a deadly whisper, waggling the knife in close proximity to Rodolphus' face, taunting him. "Oh, but you shouldn't be so worried about this little thing," mocking compassion as he again referred to the knife. "No, it's the contents of this little vial that you should be concerned about," another chuckle escaped as he watched Rodolphus squirm.

Lucius was right, he was a broken man and too easy to fracture. It was almost a pity that he had to crack him a bit more, but then again, he was Lucius Malfoy and he took no pity on any such abhorrent thing as Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Now, now Lestrange, no need to squirm uncomfortably," Lucius continued to taunt as he now positioned himself behind the back of the prisoner. He leaned down now so he was a whispers distance away, and hissed into his ear, "You see Rodolphus, as you may be aware, I do not like it when someone fucks around with my family. You understand that right?"

Rodolphus nodded, considering yelling out for help. Though, that thought was quickly abandoned. Lucius grabbed a fistful of mangy, filthy hair and yanked back so Rodolphus was now looking directly up at the ceiling, he could see the top half of Lucius' face and the madness over taking Lucius' eyes.

Rodolphus then considered his options. The worst or best that could happen, depending on which way it was looked at, was that Lucius would slit his throat with the blade and end all of this for him, right then and there. But Lucius was not merciful like that; he would torture him and then make sure he stayed alive so he could come back for more. Lucius was not one to usually get his hands dirty, but when he did, he was beyond frightening. He would literally bleed every ounce of information out of someone if he had to.

"So Lestrange, I'm going to make you a little deal. You and I are going to become little pen-pals, just like little school children. Do you understand?" Lucius continued.

Again Rodolphus nodded.

"Very good. You see, we can call this something like 'rehabilitation' for you. I am going to send you a little care pack with everything you need to start the healing process, and in return you are going to give me exactly what I want." Lucius was impressed, the more the plan was being put into action the more solid it seemed. Rodolphus was as soft as a pigmy-puff and a pink one at that.

Rodolphus snorted "– the healing process… Malfoy, you're mad, what kind feeble excuse is –" But before Rodolphus could finish his retort, he felt a hot, burning sensation run along the back of his neck. The jadeite blade sunk deeply into the man's skin and he grimaced with shock from the pain.

"Rodolphus, you truly are a stupid man," Lucius jeered. He then whipped the fistful of hair forward, pulling the man's face down and opening the gaping, bloodied wound on the back of his neck.

Unstoppering the vial, Lucius poured some of the red liquid onto the wound, making Rodolphus wince as it fizzed as the wound's edges and a scorching sensation travelled down his spine. Lucius seemed satisfied with the potion's reaction on the other man's wound. The bleeding then stopped as quickly as it started, as did the sizzling sound from the potion. All that was left was a long, inflamed strip of open skin.

"This is what you're going to need healing for." Lucius stated as he finished examining the wound. He calmly returned to his seat on the other side of the table, replacing the blade and vial of potion back into his concealed pocket. He smirked at Rodolphus who sat in disbelief and confusion.

He stared at Lucius, questions swimming around in his head. Lucius, sensing the man needed some answers, cruelly obliged.

"Well, seeing as you aren't man enough to ask and unlike yourself, I shall give you some answers that you seek. That cut on the back of your neck will be completely healed across with the exception of an inverted scar by the time the Dementor comes to take you back to your cell – there will be no evidence of what I just did. I suppose that is one of the benefits of cutting someone with a jadeite blade." Lucius looked at Rodolphus for understanding before he continued.

"The contents of the vial, like I said before should be of the bigger concern for you. Within in it contained the blood of a Mudblood." This time, Lucius smirked; Rodolphus looked as though he had been infected by the most evil of viruses.

He then continued, "Do you feel that burning sensation down your back? That's the Mudblood coursing through your veins… Notice how the pure and impure blood doesn't seem to like going together? Hmm, yes, well – this is where you'll need my assistance with the healing. You see, in all my intellect I have managed to mix the impure blood with a spreading potion. It's going to eventually start overtaking your body, until such time, you'll no longer be a pureblood."

Rodolphus sat there, gaping at Lucius Malfoy. The evil, cruel Lucius Malfoy had just got his way.

"Finally," Lucius stated, finishing off his explanation, "I can obviously stop the spread and assist you with cleaning your blood once more, only if and that is _only if_, you oblige with providing me the information I ask for and agree to follow my rules."

Rodolphus was lost. He did not want to be a Mudblood; it went against absolutely everything he stood for. There was nothing that he could do except accept Lucius' offer.

"Fine! I'll do it – I'll fucking bloody well do it! Just get this… this disease out of me! Ah fuck!" Rodolphus exploded in agitation; he could feel the heat of the potion lingering around his upper spine.

Lucius smiled. He was one step closer to finding out the truth about his daughter and bringing down those responsible for meddling with what should not be meddled with. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another vial, this was one much smaller than the red potion and was light blue in colour. He stood up and walked back over to Rodolphus, unstoppering the vial and once again yanked back the prisoner's hair so he was staring at the roof once more.

"This is a small slowing potion. This will slow the spread of the impure blood and I shall continue to send a small vial with each piece of correspondence I send you in return of information you have supplied to me. The more beneficial the information in a timely manner, the bigger the vial of slowing potion. Get it?"

Lucius poured the blue liquid from this vial into Rodolphus' mouth. The taste was not at all unpleasant and the cooling sensation in his spine was almost instant.

Lucius then let go of Rodolphus' hair, and the man nodded in acceptance of Lucius' terms and conditions.

"Good. And one last thing Lestrange – when I am finally satisfied that you have given me all of the information I shall provide you with a full reversal potion regime. If I am dissatisfied, I shall send you something a hell of a lot nastier than what I gave you today – do you understand me?" Rodolphus nodded and Lucius' satisfaction was scrawled across his face.

They both sat for a moment quietly, just thinking. A loud bang on the door alerted them that they had only five more minutes before Lucius' hour was up and Rodolphus went back to solitary. With that, Lucius stood, gave on curt nod to Rodolphus and knocked back on the door to be released. This part of the plan was now in motion, he didn't need to waste another five minutes with the sorry excuse that was Rodolphus Lestrange.

:::::::::

Lucius disapparated back to the Manor, choosing to arrive at the end of the long driveway. Today, it seemed, he appreciated the open spaces and the long walk in the open air after being in Azkaban. If an hour had made him appreciate this kind of freedom, he shuddered to think what a lifetime would do.

Smirking, Lucius had a laugh out loud moment to himself. Rodolphus Lestrange was everything as stupid as he thought he was. The poor bastard is now sitting in his cell, freaking out because he thinks he has impure blood in his system.

Lucius laughed harder. He honestly could not believe how effective a localised healing potion mixed with silver nitrate and muggle food colouring for extra dramatics, followed by a mix of powdered blue sherbet and water could be. He conceded that he really must take more notice of Draco's volumes of _Spells and Potions for Fun and Practical Jokes_.

Today he took a risk and it paid off. But Rodolphus was always going to be an easy target; it's the next steps that Lucius was going to have to be more calculating and precise about.


	8. A Mother's Silence

**I know a new chapter! OMG! Its a shorty but a piece of plot nonetheless!**

**Thank you *Autumnkrystal* *Hermoineandmarcus* and *littlecottontail94* for your reviews. I don't know what to say *blush* EXCEPT FOR - I'm definitely not giving up on this, I always finish what I start! This fanfic is my channel for blowing off stress, so please bear with me as I have a million things going on but I will put up chapters as I can xxoo.**

_From this chapter onwards, I dedicate to my hero - my dad. _

_Because we're not going to have you around for much longer, I just wanted to tell you that I am proud to be your daughter and I hope I have given you all that you've given me. You've never said I couldn't do or be whatever I wanted to do or be, for that I am thankful. I'm so lucky to have had you in my life, all twenty-seven years, and I'm sorry I may never have the guts to tell you but I reckon you already know it. I love you forever. xxoo_

**Sorry for the sad bit there everyone... Okay, chapter time! :D**

Chapter 8 - A Mother's Silence

The cold air of the frozen morning caught dry in Julius Peverell's throat as he walked down the long drive towards Malfoy Manor. He hadn't experienced a crisp English morn for many years. As he rounded the corner he could see tips of the Manor's front spires situated on two towers on which sat on corners opposing each other.

_Hasn't changed one bit and it still continues to feel like I'm returning home, _he thought to himself, the Manor coming more and more into view. Approaching the wide, wooden doors, Julius reached for the knocker and released it hard before doing it again twice more to announce his presence. He unconsciously pushed his hand through his thick, black hair and proceeded to give his locks a trademark ruffle. It couldn't be denied that the man oozed accidental sex appeal.

The large wooden door opened to reveal a small house elf. Guppy bowed low and advised that his Master was not home, but Mistress Narcissa would want to see him, he was practically family. Guppy took Julius into the manor's waiting room, before leaving him to summon his mistress.

Narcissa glided down the large staircase surprised at Julius' arrival. She had not known that Julius was coming and usually he would announce his intentions to visit days prior. Though surprised, she was nonetheless excited to see him. Ever since she was a young girl at Hogwarts had she held a small flame for her husband's best friend. His dashing good looks getting better with age, '_like a fine mead'_ she smirked to herself. She was a little disappointed though, that he had never settled down. He was the brother she never had and wished he would get himself a family.

"Narcissa!" Julius exclaimed, pulling her in for a hug, "it's been how long now?"

"Too long Julius, too long," she responded, returning the welcome and smiling.

"I had no idea you were coming to visit. Its such a lovely surprise!" She continued.

"Surprise?" Julius queried. "Didn't Lucius tell you that I had intended to visit? I responded to his letters and thought it was much easier to just visit."

"Ah, no he didn't. I wasn't even aware he wrote you, then again, we haven't spent a great deal of time together lately. He's been... preoccupied" She responded dryly but Julius saw the worry she was desperately hiding.

"I'm concerned for Lucius and as I see, so are you..." Julius prompted

Narcissa merely nodded in agreement.

"Lucius has written to me a couple of times and I believe he's been a bit inebriated in some instances. Usually, I wouldn't worry about a few drunken letters, but, Severus' wrote me too. I have to ask you something Narcissa..." Julius becoming serious, concerned about how raising the topic of Ophelia would affect Narcissa. Lucius had always been cautious about talking about their loss around Narcissa, so Julius thought best to just be straight with her.

But Narcissa didn't say anything, silently encouraging Julius to continue.

"I'm going to be honest here. Severus and I share concerns that Lucius may be having difficulty with letting go of the past. He seems to be obsessed over Ophelia's death, convinced that her death was not an accident." Julius said in a lowered tone, as though he was ensuring unwanted ears could not hear.

"Ophelia? What in Merlin's name?" She said surprisingly.

She knew Lucius had distanced himself but, she thought,_ over our daughter? What did Lucius know? Why hadn't he discussed his concerns with me?_

Julius cut into her thoughts, "I'm not one hundred percent sure but Lucius said there seems to be more to Ophelia's death than that we all thought. Then I received a letter from Severus which is same way inclined but more about Lucius' mental health. Is there something I should know before I talk to them?"

Narcissa was stunned. She stared at Julius blankly for a moment, unable to respond.

"Er, no, I don't think so," finally able to answer, "not that I am aware of anyway". Narcissa's mind began to reel with possibilities. _What has Lucius found out?_ She wondered, her thoughts drifting.

Julius noticed that Narcissa's attention was no longer fully held by him. He creased his brow slightly but chose not to pursue what she was thinking, allowing her privacy in her mind. He remembered clearly her devastation at the loss of her daughter, and was fearful that pushing the issue would reopen those old emotional scars.

Julius move forward and put his hands on her shoulders. She snapped to briefly and kissed him haste on the cheek. "Thank you for coming, and please, talk to my husband." She pleaded.

Julius nodded and squeezed her shoulders before turning to leave.

"Julius," Narcissa called, making him turn back. "Where are you staying?"

"I've got a room in Diagon Alley," he said.

"No, you've got a room here. You wouldn't turn down a woman in need would you?" She said, with a wry smile.

"Of course not Cissy, I'll get my elf to send my belongings along later today." Julius surprised how quickly Narcissa pulled herself together, though he wasn't completely fooled, suspecting that what he was really seeing was her well practised facade, covering what he could only imagine was ten lifetimes of pain.

:::::::::

The incident plagued her nightmares every night since it happened. Sweet, little Ophelia, ripped out of her arms only days after giving birth. Defenceless. Of course, she and Lucius never expected her and in all honesty, Narcissa never wanted her. Was it wrong for a mother to feel that way? She never would deny her lover, best-friend and husband, Lucius, a daughter, especially after seeing his elation at her arrival. And she knew she would eventually warm to the idea of being a mother to a daughter. Sadly, that opportunity had never come again, Narcissa unsuccessful in conception following the twins, leaving her feeling heartbroken and a failure.

_Oh, I'm such a horrible person - she was my baby, our baby - what have I done?_ Narcissa sat on the comforter and sobbed hopelessly into her hands. _Lucius would never forgive me if he found out_.

Pulling herself out of her self-pity, Narcissa knew she had to stop the truth from ever seeing the light of day, too many already hurt and more pain would come of it if it did. She stood up and straightened, making her way over to her small writing desk by the window. Pulling out pieces of parchment, she penned four letters.

Three hours later, Narcissa was satisfied that the letters' recipients would know what to do, for they had all agreed that no one else was to know, fearing Lucius would find out the truth somehow. The less people who knew, the stronger the secret.

There was one last regret that stayed in her mind for the rest of that day and it was a regret that she would live with for the remainder of her years.

_They gave me a way out. I took it and knowingly ruined my family._


	9. Chapter 9 - New School Year Blues

**Hey my lovely readers and new readers alike. I have been on hiatus but I have not forgotten you! Promise. It's been nearly two years! Sorry! I lost my father :( (boo!) so it has been quite the time that's for sure. However, I am back, and as I have promised I will finish this bad-boy :) I am still loving it, so no I won't be rushing it to get it done, but I will be doing a fair bit over this weekend to get the fires burning once again.**

**I re-read the reviews and I am completely blown away! I don't expect feedback or reviews (constructive criticism most definitely welcome) I purely write for the enjoyment and escapism that it brings. And it's a great procrastinator for when I am mean't to be studying... Last semester coming up! Woop.**

**But now, this is for you. Love Buttons xxoo**

9. New School Blues

Ophelia expelled a nervous breath, the first day of a new school was never easy – even though she'd had plenty of practice.

Stepping out of the car, Judy Tibbs showed Ophelia to the head office to be introduced to the headmaster of the school, before being settled into classes. Though she maintained great marks in all of her subjects, Ophelia struggled with the lack of consistency that came with the constant change in schools and towns. What added to her worry was how much harder things would become if she had to continue moving around so much now that she was starting senior school this year, in particular the fact that she had been to this point unable to maintain any friends, if she was lucky enough to make one or two in the first place. Today however would prove to be a turn in a very different direction, one in which even in her wildest dreams she would never have been able to prepare for.

Walking along an extended corridor, Ophelia looked out the window above student's lockers observing the interaction of her new peers. The very first thing she noticed was that there was a clear pecking order in the playground and Darcy Tibbs was amongst the group that appeared to rule the roost. Her heart sank instantly... Already she could tell where her position in all that would be. The sharp twinges and bruising to the side of her torso was a precursor of what was to come, she was more than certain of that.

She let her mind drift off, remembering the beating Darcy had given her just days ago when she had gone for her evening run. She saw madness in his eyes and it frightened her. The supremacy that he believed he held over her was dangerous - he was convinced that he was someone, no, something else. On deeper reflection, she had thought herself a little insane too, she was certain that her body had become possessed by something else, somehow finding the strength to punch Darcy in the face. Twice. She had never fought back before. But, she had thought about it at length while checking out her injuries that evening in her small ensuite and come to the realisation that the pain must have made her hallucinate the whole 'brother' thing and that adrenaline gave her the strength to fight back. It had to have been, there was no other possible explanation.

Her hands rubbed together and she felt the roughness of the healing scar on the palm of her hand.

_Another 'unexplainable' injury. _

Her subconscious was really playing havoc with her sanity lately, dreaming about an imaginary family, making her heart yearn in desperation. It was making her feel bitter and a little disassociated with reality. At times she felt borderline manic.

Slowly coming back to her surroundings, Ophelia sighed, _'just like all the other schools and families'_, she thought to herself, watching Darcy command in the playground. A typical bully. In truth, it wasn't as though Ophelia thought it would be any different at this new school to any other schools she had been to, but she still had hope that one day it would change.

_I guess today just won't be that day._

Still deep in memories of schools past, Ophelia did not see the dark haired girl approach her with wide, deep blue eyes and a beaming smile.

"Hi!" The girl exclaimed excitedly, startling Ophelia back to the here and now.

"Oh my god," Ophelia responded, her hand unconsciously bought up to cover her chest as though to catch her breath, "Ah, hi. You scared me." She finished a little breathlessly.

The bright eyed girl giggled and held out her hand, "I'm Morgan, I'm going to be your buddy. You're in all of my classes!"

Ophelia was rather taken aback by this overexcited twelve-year-old. Friendly was an understatement, confronting would be a term more sufficient she mused. Taking it in her surprised stride, Ophelia shook Morgan's hand, "I'm Ophe-" she started.

However, Morgan in all her enthusiasm, cut in, "Ophelia. Yes I know. You're living with the Tibbs' right?"

"Y-yes, I am," Ophelia stammered, her mind chatter going at a rate of knots, '_holy crap, what is this girl on?'_ She stared at Morgan incredulously.

Morgan giggled again. "Well Ophelia, welcome to Brooks High," the excitable girl twirling her arms up in a 'this is it' gesture, smiling broadly.

Ophelia couldn't fault the girl's enthusiasm and returned the warmest smile she could muster in all her awkwardness. Before she had a moment to do anything further, Morgan scooped one of her arms through Ophelia's and pulled her away.

Morgan began to ramble on about the ins and outs of Brooks High life. She pointed out to Ophelia classrooms, no-go zones, the people to associate with and those to avoid. Morgan's ability to talk was certainly a talent Ophelia doubted anyone could match. The information pouring out of the dark haired girl was constant and rapid. Try as she might, Ophelia couldn't absorb everything she was being told, the pain from her rib cage started to throb as her breaths started to become more rapid and shallow.

She then began to feel uncomfortably warm in her uniform, the school tie becoming quite restrictive around her neck – she knew these familiar signs… _No, not now!_ Her mind screamed, she needed to do something to distract her mind and to stop Morgan.

"For God's sake!" Ophelia butted in sharply and rudely into Morgan's incessant chatter. "Don't you draw breath!?" The blonde girl desperately getting her new classmate to cease talking so she could once again gain control over her ever-present anxiety.

Morgan turned to Ophelia to look at her with curious eyes at such sudden bluntness, before becoming aware of her new friend's clear distress. "Oh my, Ophelia, I'm sorry – quick, come take a seat over here and draw deep breaths, I'll go get you some water. Oh, I didn't think. Oh I'm sorry… so, so sorry"

Morgan had clearly dealt with anxiety attacks before.

As she ran off to the locker area to get her water bottle, Morgan began verbally, albeit quietly, berating herself over how she should have been more thoughtful of Ophelia's situation before acting. Her parents were always constantly reminding her to think before she spoke! _Oh Merlin_.

Ophelia had gratefully taken to the bench suggested by Morgan, hoping beyond hope that she managed to douse the panic rising before if became a full blown attack. Her heart was beating wildly, thrumming in her ears, she felt as though the world around her was disappearing in a swirl – drawing her eyes tightly shut, she pulled her feet up onto the bench so her knees were against her chest.

Creating a tight ball with her body, Ophelia begged that this position would stop the rising nausea bought on by her feeling of restriction as the world felt as though it was cascading down around her.

If it wasn't for the thundering of her heart in her head, Ophelia was sure she would have heard the group of boys approach her. As it was though, her deep state of panic shut down her senses and made her an easy target for Darcy and his mates.

His verbal taunting and the laughter of those observing his actions went unnoticed by Ophelia, irking Darcy somewhat because he wasn't getting the reaction he had hoped. And it was well-known that Darcy's short temper made him do rash things. Ophelia's lack of reaction seemed to be a trigger for this rashness. In the blink of an eye Darcy withdrew a long, wooden stick from his sleeve, pointing it directly at the balled up girl, murmuring something quietly under his breath.

The group of boys around him went silent, trying to work out what spell their mate had casted on the new girl and a response they got.

Ophelia's body was flung outwards and hit the ground with a thud, sprawling out in an undignified manner, from the curled up position she was holding to tightly. She wanted to scream as her skin felt as though it was crawling with thousands of little pin pricks all over, but her voice was constricted. Ophelia's panic increased further as she tried to calm herself, still unaware of the presence of not just the boys, but a crowd of students were also beginning to join in the observing.

Lying flat and trying so hard to fight the sharp sensations, Ophelia's head flopped lazily to the side, she saw through teary eyes the other kids standing around – some laughing, other with looks of pure horror on their faces, before she saw a quick glimpse of Darcy smirking at her struggling.

_Finally_, he thought, _a reaction_.

The pain crawling over her skin continued to increase in intensity. She saw the crowd being shoved aside now as Morgan burst her way through the crowd, wand drawn and now pointing towards Darcy. It was at this time she started to black out, the pain becoming too much. She heard Morgan shouting at Darcy, but couldn't make out what it was.

The last thing she did hear before complete unconsciousness was a boy's voice saying "she needs to know her place."

::::::::::::

Thousands of miles away, a blonde boy was awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, though at nothing in particular. He was exhausted but he could not settle and had been this way for a number of days since his out of body experience during double potions. He had told nobody what happened, only that he had been unconscious. He didn't feel that it was time to discuss things with the potion's Master, Professor Snape, just yet. He wanted to gather more evidence, experience more contact with the blonde girl – _Ophelia_.

Draco's mind went over the potion time and time again. He was positive that he had made it to Professor Snape's exact instructions. The cogs of Draco's mind spinning, he had to get back to the girl, it was too coincidental that her name was Ophelia, let alone the similar age and the hair. The two incidents that he had experienced now were also too much to be coincidental. He felt her story, her life in an instant – their familiarity with one another was inexplicable. Her warmth and love outshone the clear emotional and physical pain she was going through.

Draco's parents had told him that he had a twin sister, well did have a twin sister. But unfortunately because of the First Wizarding War being in full swing, everyone was a target, even the Malfoys. Their preference for neutrality seemed to make them bigger targets because both sides of the war – the "Light" and the "Dark" wanted them.

Naturally, this meant dirty tactics were used both all and sundry leaving his twin sister dead before she could really exist and his parents dragged into the Dark Lord's inner circle with great reluctance and trepidation.

But now, this story held greater depth. He craved answers that he knew he wouldn't be able to get from his parents for they fully believed that his twin was dead. He also knew that the repercussions from the First Wizarding War were still being felt right through the wizarding community – people were still pro-light or pro-dark. Though it wouldn't be admitted by anyone involved, that the war in the end became so grey and no definition between the sides because of the formation of sub-groups that sympathised with both sides but held a preference for one over the other, covert operations, spies and traitors meant that Draco now, could not trust a single soul. That included his esteemed Professor Snape.

No this time he had to go this alone. His sister was not dead and he was determined to prove it. To prove it of course; and to bring her home.

He continued to mull for a while, going over everything he knew from the war – that he had read and been told by others, knowing that one year and five months after his birth, Saint Potter saw the end of it. Bloody Potter.

Following a short cluster of thoughts about how much he despised the scar-headed, bespectacled Gryffindork, Draco decided that he would get more information about his recent experiences as well as a broadened perspective of the War – what was the true motivation behind the Light and the Dark. He needed to know and for that, he needed to spend some quality time in the library, figuring it was the best place to start.


	10. Missives and Hidden Agendas

10. Missives and Hidden Agendas Makes Things All a Little Fuzzy

The sleek bird flew silently, carrying its owner's correspondence with pride and servitude. Her wings flapped hard through the air, propelling her towards the recipient of the letter. She instinctively knew that the old man with the silver beard would be high in his tower where he over saw the education of the many pupils that lived there for many months of the year.

The owl also knew that the boy who belonged to his owner lived at the castle for those months of the year, having to frequently complete its duty as a postal owl by delivering packages of love and goodies from her owner to the boy. Humans were quite certainly a strange sort.

Landing daintily but with an audible _thud_ on the window sill of the headmaster's tower, the owl pecked on the glass to gather the old man's attention and let her in. An impatient bird, she did not like to be kept waiting by anyone and she was in luck this trip.

No sooner had she pecked on the window had it opened seemingly on its own, granting her access to the cluttered room that the window was helping to contain.

Without waiting for any further prompting, the owl allowed herself entry and finally stopped her journey by making herself home on an oak wood perch, which was shared by an enviously beautiful bird of shiny red and gold plumage – a phoenix.

Fawkes merely looked at the owl, fluffed out his own feathers a little as if to show off his beauty, before returning his preening regime that he was undertaking when the owl had arrived. He didn't mind sharing his perch with what he thought was a reasonably beautiful owl.

_Vain_ _git_ the owl thought.

The owl proffered her leg towards the older wizard, allowing him to gently untie his letter, before being given some treats to nibble and time to rest before she sent off home to her lady with the old man's response.

::::::::::::

Dumbledore sat pensively in his old, stuffy leather chair, absentmindedly stroking his long, silvery beard. The letter from Narcissa Malfoy was most unexpected to say the least. And how he was going to respond became the bigger question.

It seemed as though Lucius had a revelation about their daughter, Draco's twin; this was most interesting indeed. Though Narcissa's letter did not provide details as to what these revelations were about, Narcissa did hint at the fact that Lucius's behaviour had recently become unpredictable, withdrawn and erratic over the Christmas break, and that both Severus Snape and their friend Julius Peverell were concerned for Lucius. Given his knowledge of Mr Peverell's recent arrival back in England, it was handy having insiders at the Ministry, and now Narcissa's missive, Dumbledore knew he couldn't ignore the signs. Something was going down and he didn't know about it. The not knowing was maddening!

What made it worse though was that his most trusted ally, Severus Snape, knew something and was keeping it from him.

The aged wizard considered also that Narcissa's letter was more an enquiry into what Dumbledore may know about the situation at hand. Dumbledore was very surprised at the fact that Lucius was clearly keeping something from his wife, than that he was investigating the 'death' of Ophelia.

Dumbledore mused over the facts that he did know.

He knew that Ophelia did not die in St Mungo's as many had been lead to believe. He also knew that among those believers of her death were none other than her own parents – both Narcissa and Lucius being told of the incident and their child, the victim.

Dumbledore knew this simply because he played a key part in Ophelia's disappearance.

He considered also though, that Narcissa of course grieved for an entirely different reason than that of Lucius, and if one was to watch the couple, one would never have considered that Narcissa was anything but a mother mourning the death of her infant child. Dumbledore though could see it as plain as day and observed the guilt etched into the woman's emotions and actions as soon as she heard the news of the death.

Curiosity kept that thought burning within his mind – did Narcissa have second thoughts? He did always wonder whether the motherly instinct took over her calculating mind. Then again, he really did not know much about women, so he could only allow himself to presume.

She had come to him about two months before the children were due to be born. A visit to an independent and rather discreet healer found Narcissa aimed with the news that she was carrying twins and the likelihood was one of them was a girl. Narcissa pleaded with Dumbledore, she could not allow this child to grow up in this world and to have the twin terminated would put their son, the child they wanted and needed, at risk of also being terminated or in the least, permanently damaged.

Having always held a spot for a past favourite student and former-Miss Black, Dumbledore counselled Narcissa into making the correct decision for her children. Had he have not been so blind-sided at the time, he would have instinctively told her to discuss her concerns with her husband, as any good wife would do.

But the fact of the matter was, Dumbledore was most put out by Lucius Malfoy, who at the time was ignoring Dumbledore's request for an audience, given that Lucius was considered as one of the best tacticians for the Ministry of Magic. This meant that Lucius was so very much in demand by both Dumbledore and Voldemort for their sides of the war, a strategist of his calibre would have changed the war's outcome entirely and no doubt would have been the considering factor for the victor.

Dumbledore simply took Lucius's reluctance to meet with him as a sign that Lucius was swept up in the pureblood mania of Voldemort's campaign, no longer seeing the pursuit of the prized-wizard worthwhile in his own agenda.

However, one thing that Dumbledore did not know or bank on was that Lucius was neutral and always had been. This unfortunate error in judgement on Dumbledore's behalf was quite possibly one of the single-most significant catalysts for the turning point in the war.

The Order of the Phoenix and the Wizarding community were purely lucky that Sibyl Trelawney's prophecy had come to fruition and Harry Potter managed to inadvertently stop the Dark Lord that night in Godric's Hollow all of those many years ago.

It was known amongst the more learned of wizards and magical scholars alike that prophecies were not created to come true, so as what some would consider fate. Oh no, they were made to show events that are most likely to occur given the current trajectory of events that were happening at the time.

It just happened that this was a flaw in Voldemort's own plan, having little knowledge of the power of prophecies, giving those who hear it the power to change the outcome. So, working on trying to break the prophecy, Voldemort unintentionally fulfilled it, thus leading to his own down fall.

Dumbledore frowned then, knowing Tom Riddle wasn't truly gone and his alter-ego Voldemort would no doubt make a return. He felt sorry for Harry Potter, truly starting to consider the lad to be like the grandson he never had, his life laid out for him through the action of another.

The old man's digression shook him from his reverie. He would invite Narcissa to tea where they could talk. He knew that he needed to find out more on the situation and refused to give anything away about Ophelia's current status, given that Narcissa herself thought the child dead, having pre-arranged the supposed death with himself and other member of the Order, Arthur Weasley.

A plan now in place, Dumbledore responded to Narcissa's letter, citing that owls may be intercepted and the conversation she was seeking was not for outside ears.

Attaching the response to the leg of Narcissa's beautiful tawny owl, the owl gave a hoot of gratitude for the accommodation that it had been afforded before being sent off into the late afternoon, back towards Wiltshire where her lady resided.

Satisfied, Dumbledore then sent for a house elf to summon the Hogwarts potions professor. He needed to find out more about Lucius's behaviour and what it was that had prompted the enigmatic wizard's reinvestigation into his daughter's death.

One thing was for certain, Lucius Malfoy could never learn the truth of Ophelia. He had to continue to think she was dead. If Lucius found out that she was alive and located her, of which Dumbledore has little doubt he would do, the wizarding world would be turned on its head.

Dumbledore for the first time in a long time, was concerned. When he wanted to be, Lucius Malfoy could be a very powerful and very, very dangerous man. Brilliant yes, but even more so, dangerous.

::::::::::::

"You called for me headmaster?" The dour potion's master stalked his way into the headmaster's office, stopping in front of Dumbledore's desk. His arms folded across his chest, a scowl of indifference on his face.

"Ah, Severus, yes. Thank you for coming…" Dumbledore responded, while at the same time reaching for a bowl of offending sweets to offer his colleague "Liquorice Snap?" Severus sneered at the black, bitey confections and waved his hand nonchalantly in refusal.

"Plenty sweet enough then Severus?" the old wizard joked jovially, he needed to make sure Professor Snape was in a decent mood; otherwise he would get nothing of what he wanted from the man.

Snape's eyebrow was raised in response. It was clear that the potion's master was not having a good day.

Dumbledore was thoughtful of this, deciding to use this as a broach to identify the elephant in his office. He needed to push Snape's buttons.

"Rough day at the office then old chap?

That was all it took.

Severus's figurative feathers were ruffled, he hated the old coots' terms of endearment for him. His scowl deepened, the headmaster was going to have to get to the point shortly or he would not be getting any cooperation.

But in true Dumbledore style, he chuckled somewhat with that glint in his eye.

_Ah ha! He wants something_. Severus concluded, _and judging the way he is scooting around just asking like he normally would suggests to me he__'__s nervous about what he wants to bring up. Probably wants me to watch over Potter or something__… __I flat out refuse and that__'__s final_.

"Humour me headmaster," Snape asked

"I must ask something of you Severus," was all he answered.

Snape bristled.

"If you're seeking something from me, you are going to have to be straight out with it Albus! And before you ask, I will not watch over your precious Potter for you. He and Weasley are causing trouble in my potions classes again, this time adding extra potion strengthening ingredients to Malfoy's cauldron causing him to have an intense out of body experience of which he cannot recall…"

Professor Snape had been able to partially deduce what happened to Draco Malfoy that day in potions when they were trying to make a passable Mişca Abur, through intense questioning of students and a review of the contents of Draco's potion.

He knew that the Malfoy boy was not that stupid in potions to have done that to himself. Though, it did provide Snape with some satisfaction that he was able to deduct substantial points from Gryffindor and give detention to Weasley for the next four Saturday evenings with Filch. Potter got away unscathed, no evidence to apprehend the dunderhead.

The headmaster watched as the potions professor began to unconsciously pace back and forth across the floor of the headmaster's office. Dumbledore allowed the scowling man to continue, knowing he had to get everything out of his system before he would be able to have the conversation he needed to have with him.

Dumbledore chuckled once again, effectively breaking Snape's thought pattern and stride.

"Oh no my dear boy! This has nothing to do with young Harry!" Albus Dumbledore appeared to be tickled pink at the potion master's reaction.

"I'm actually hoping to speak with you about something completely unrelated. You see, I have heard things from inside the ministry that all is not well with Lucius Malfoy. And I know for a fact that Mr Julius Peverell is back in England. Is there anything you may wish to tell me in regards to this?"

Severus froze. This was very much unexpected.

Though, he shouldn't be surprised given that the nutty old headmaster had eyes and ears just about everywhere. Severus looked at Albus for a fleeting moment, before his shoulders dropped slightly. He had already decided that he was going to talk to him about it anyway, purely out of concern for his close friend Lucius.

Turning back to the headmaster now, Severus stared into the headmaster's eyes. He always did this, seeking the calmness of Dumbledore's own mind through his twinkling pools. But this time something was amiss.

"Lucius sent me a letter a week or so ago as he did Julius, apparently. He believes something is remiss with the information he received about Ophelia's death. He wants to look into it and asked myself and Julius to help – we are as close to him as brothers would be after all. I am due to meet with the both of them at some stage while Julius is back. That is all I know. I'll be sure to keep you informed."

Dumbledore stared intently at the professor, as though he was looking for untruths. He was surprisingly disappointed when he could not find any, his desperation to know more outweighing his trust for Severus.

Severus on the other hand wanted to vomit. He could not believe that he blatantly lied to the most powerful wizard of magical England.

_Severus you fool! _He thought to himself, but ensuring that his occlumency shields remained in place. Though he thought it would be a poor move on Dumbledore's part if he tried to read Severus's mind at this time. There was no reason to suggest that what Severus had said was a lie.

_It was more a withholding of the whole truth._ Severus continued to muse.

Dumbledore smiled at Severus. It was a smile that spoke a thousand words. Their trusting relationship would continue to be in hand at this time. Severus nodded to the headmaster, who nodded in return, silently dismissing the potions master.

_That was close, very close indeed_. Severus's mind went off into a frenzy of thoughts, mostly centred on being drawn back into the days of being a double spy for the two most unstable but brilliant wizards England has seen this side of last century.

For many years to come, Severus will ponder this moment, when that unusual sense of caution that had hit him looking into Albus Dumbledore's eyes.

::::::::::::

Narcissa heard the familiar shrill in the distance. Empress, her owl was able to be spotted on the setting sky, returning to Malfoy Manor from her visit to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The lady of the manor mused that the owl would be exhausted from her journey this day and would need extra rest and attention, for she had other letters that needed to be sent and it would be best not to use some common bird. She trusted Empress with her duties.

The bird did not take long in reaching her lady's rooms, depositing the letter she carried, before being tended to by the house-elf.

With great enthusiasm, Narcissa inelegantly tore the envelop open to read the headmaster's response. In the least, one could say she felt quite disappointed. Though acquiescing to Dumbledore's reasoning that they could not afford prying eyes to their correspondence, she still felt he could have given her something in the least. Particularly after everything she had done for him and the Order during the war. They owed her. She put her entire family at risk for them. Something wasn't right.

Though, playing it smart, having been around Lucius for this many years one picks up a few tips and tricks, Narcissa concluded that tea with the headmaster would be beneficial. She of course would need to practice schooling her features after all, Dumbledore was highly manipulative and only kept those around he had use for, so she would need to be particularly careful.

Her last thought before having to prepare for dinner was that if she did not get the outcome she wanted, people would pay. She was a Malfoy wife after all, and Malfoy's don't make sacrifices without getting something in return.


	11. You Don't Need Blood to be Brothers

You Don't Need Blood to be Brothers

Lucius was in quite the good mood that evening given recent events following his not-so-pleasant visit to Azkaban to see his unfortunate brother-in-law, Rodolphus Lestrange.

He figured that the visit had bided him well, setting into action his plan to find out the truth of his little princess. He drummed his fingers against the cold, wooden desk, the action helping him think about his next few steps. He knew that Julius had also arrived back into the country, given the whispers of the ladies around the office at the ministry.

He smirked inwardly. _Old dog_, he thought allowing an undignified snort to escape.

Allowing himself a tumbler of Ogden's finest – he was trying to cut back you know, he knew that old Roddy Lestrange was going to be a push over, and doubted that he would get a lot of information out of the bastard, simply because he didn't believe that Bellatrix would have spoken to him in great length about anything. But he was the perfect starting point for Lucius's plan.

He thought about his in-laws then, Rodolphus and Bellatrix that is, and how they had the most unusual marriage Lucius had ever come across.

It was well known within the Death Eater circle that Bellatrix had eyes only for the Dark Lord, but of course Lucius was fully aware that Voldemort had this inane _inability_ to have any sort of relationship – platonic or otherwise, with any other soul on the planet. But why Rodolphus would put up with that, was a thought beyond anything the blonde wizard could mentally conjure.

Did Lestrange not have a big enough pair to put his foot down with his wife? Actually, he didn't answer that - not eve he, Lucius Malfoy would be _that_ stupid. This was Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, and old Roddy severely lost out on the wife lottery with her.

He shuddered at the thought of Bellatrix, the vile, unstable woman that she was. How she and his Cissy were related by blood was a puzzle on its own, let alone sisters! The worst part about it all was the fact that he had to go back to Azkaban to see the crazy bitch. If anyone was going to have answers, it was Bellatrix.

Sadly, he would also need to use an exorbitant amount of tact with her, she may be sociopathic but he presumed she'd still have her smarts about her. The Dementors affected emotions, sapping the good ones, and taking the souls. Lucius felt secure in this belief then, considering that she hadn't been kissed, family members were always advised of this prior to the 'kiss', and the abominable witch never displayed the ability to feel anything emotionally, the Dementors probably didn't really have much of an impact on her at all.

Problem was she hated Lucius. This in itself would present the biggest challenge. Narcissa was probably the only person left on this planet that Bellatrix would even look at. Lucius tucked this thought away when he looked down at the crumpled parchment sitting just to the side of his writing board.

Grabbing it and bringing it back in front of him, he opened it for what felt like the millionth time. Lucius's small, neat scrawl filled the parchment of endless notes, crude arrows strewn over the page, diagrams and a checklist to one side was observed.

Sighing lightly, he dipped a quill in the inkpot, further adding bits and pieces to the page, and crossing out others from the side-list. If anyone wanted a glimpse inside this wizard's head, a perfect snapshot of it was now down on this piece of parchment. Not even the brains of Nicholas Flamel himself could have deciphered head or tail of what was written.

Lucius however, looked at the plan on the page as though it was as clear as his ABCs from his childhood days.

Taking his quill to his list of leads, those whom he was intending to have "friendly discussions" with, Lucius made notes underneath the name 'Rodolphus Lestrange', adding further detail to his plan with the wizard. He was happy that he decided to have a bit of cruel fun with him. It may work in his favour in the long run.

Looking at the next few on his list, he knew that he needed to keep acting on his enquiries, especially while he had both Severus and Julius available. Many hands made light work and they were the only two he trusted, aside from Narcissa of course, but she needn't worry herself with such trivialities – he wanted to bring their daughter home for her. He saw her pain constantly.

Thinking of Narcissa suddenly, he felt a little bit of guilt having spent so much of his time away from the Manor and not giving his wife the attention she deserved. He promised himself that he would try to make this up to her.

A naughty glint crept upon his expression.

_May be if I'm a good boy, she may let me make it up to her tonight_.

He felt a slight stirring in his cock at this thought, allowing a quiet, deep moan rumble in this throat. Rising determinedly from his desk, he made his way down to dinner with hopes of wooing the lovely specimen that was his wife. It had been too long since he had thoroughly shagged the witch to the point where neither could walk and he was feeling rather energetic.

With a spring in his step and a determined mind, Lucius found himself well on his way to the dining room, inappropriate thoughts of his beautiful wife in blush-worthy positions, writhing under him, on him and everywhere in between. These thoughts turning out to be the perfect tinder for keeping the fire of his resolve burning.

Reaching the corner to the dining room however, he stopped abruptly when he heard Narcissa's laugh ring out and a deep, masculine voice speaking to her. Though what was being said was inaudible to Lucius's ears.

Lucius felt a pang of jealousy rear its ugly head.

Narcissa's laughter echoed once again.

This bored into Lucius's imagination – the thoughts of inappropriate Narcissa remained, but this time they were of her cavorting with another man.

That did it.

Lucius's eye twitched ever so slightly before... _SNAP! _

_S_torming into the dining room, Lucius had his wand out and ready for the fight, pointing in every direction. Someone was going to get seriously hurt.

The scene before him however was not what he was imagining. And he had just made a complete tit of himself. In front of his two best friends and wife no less. Narcissa's laugh was cut off immediately; instead her smile dropped as she stared at her husband, a slight frown of confusion on her pale, perfect features.

"Lucius, darling?" She called to him.

"…" Lucius looked around the table. His two best friends and his wife were seated and ready for dinner.

"…"

"Ah hem, evening lads. Cissy." Was all he spoke as he nodded acknowledgement of the dinner guests and made his way to the head of the table. He noted that it was the small setting, the perfect size for more intimate and less formal affairs, such as was this occasion.

_How fucking embarrassing_, he sulked to himself.

Before he could even take a seat however, Julius's deep laughter boomed throughout the dining room, pure mirth upon his features and he just looked at his best friend, shaking his head as he went.

_Oh Merlin above, Lucius is losing it indeed_, he chuckled to himself.

Julius's laughter became infectious however, with Severus finding it within himself, for just a moment, to share in the merriment. He relished in the feeling of laughing with another particularly another that was considered equivalent to his brother. Moments like these were few and far between these days for the professor.

Narcissa on the other hand looked at the scene around her with complete astonishment. Her husband, who looked mighty chagrined, kept a rather dowdy expression and looked everywhere but at the other table guests. Julius appeared to be calming somewhat, letting laughing sighs cry out as he took breaths to gain back any semblance of composure and Severus, well Severus was laughing so hard he snorted – sending Julius's laughter back off again.

_I'm sitting at a table with a bunch of bloody teenage boys!_ She considered thoughtfully, but not before she really studied her husband, as discreetly as one could – _could he really be losing the plot? It's all my fault._

Outwardly, there was no signs of guilt to be seen on her perfect feminine face, but Narcissa knew that it would eat her up if she continued to watch her husband, the man she vowed to love, to slowly go to pieces.

He only knew of Ophelia for a couple of days, yet he loved her more than Narcissa could have even hoped to feel from him in a lifetime.

As the ruckus around the table calmed and the men fell in step of conversation, Lucius eyed his wife to the side, she quietly sipped her Pinot Noir, a watchful gaze over the dinner guests. Ever the gracious host one would say, but Lucius thought he saw more. Of what he couldn't quite decide, but oh how he loved that woman and really, did it matter in the end?

Satisfied sighs soon followed, with all three men rising from the table, each giving Narcissa a gentle peck on the cheek, except Lucius, whose lips lingered upon hers for a little bit longer than acceptable in company. A hand may have also snuck around to give her still pert arse a little squeeze.

He grinned at her and winked; she could see the smile almost meet his steel gaze and right now that was enough for her to satisfy her previous concern for the man. Returning affection in kind, she playfully slapped his behind, and of which she would consider rather taught post-slap, as the other two gentlemen nudged Lucius in the ribs for the display between he and his wife.

Again, she mused, _a bunch of bloody teenage boys! _ The sinking feeling though that all was not right with her husband remained a niggling voice at the back of her mind. At the back, maybe, quiet? Most definitely not.

Lucius on the other hand felt as though he gained a second wind. He reminded himself, as he did every time he, Severus and Julius got together, that really, they shouldn't go for so long between catch ups.

Sauntering behind the two dark headed lads, he watched with a smirk how Severus, a man of no-care and poise hung onto every word of Julius's most recent claim – a woman of course, by the name of Scarlett, and like her name, she was very much the vixen in every way imaginable. Had it been any other man, Lucius would have called him a liar, but Julius… Well, Severus and Lucius both know Julius well enough that there was only merit to the tale being spun. They'd seen their friend literally in action unfortunately, too many times in the past to consider otherwise.

There are just some parts of your best mates that you never want to see. Put it this way, Julius Peverell was not a shy fellow.

Sitting in Lucius's study, the three men settled in with a tumbler of '1865', a rather fiery brew that would put hair on the chest of even the most feminine of women.

"Ah, that's the spot, Luce," Julius commending his old friend on the choice of liquor.

Lucius raised his glass in agreement, polishing his off in one mouthful. Another three of the same, found the men feeling relaxed to the point that they could have almost dripped off of their respective chairs into puddles on the floor. The three pairs of eyes gazed at the mesmerising flames in the hearth, dancing on the logs of wood. It was making Lucius feel rather heavy bodied, to the point that the previously wanted shag-fest with the wifey was non-existent at that point.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere - he chuckled.

The other two men looked at him a little sideways.

"Care to share?" Enquired Severus.

Lucius chuckled again, but this time was more of a throaty giggle.

"Someone spike your drink mate?" Julius asked, a look of confusion across his brow, before turning to Severus -

"He still can't hold his liquor? Bloody lightweight..."

Looking over at his two friends, Lucius let out a mighty bark of laughter, which seemed to roll on for about a minute, in this time he laughed so hard he wasn't able to draw breath. His body had contorted up just so that had someone not known he was laughing, they would have thought the poor man was having a seizure and called for a Mediwizard immediately.

Trying to regain some semblance of reasonability, Lucius was quite aware of how flushed his face would have looked, but his care factor was non-existent. He wasn't even sure why he was laughing so hard – it wasn't as though his thought was really that humourous to being with.

_Merlin, maybe I am going 'round the bend_, he concluded. This thought set him off on another outburst of laughter.

A few more minutes passed and feeling much more controlled now, Lucius sniffed and wiped under his eye, while letting out a few breathy laughs before regaining focus to explain his outburst.

"I went to Azkaban to visit old Roddy Lestrange," he stated matter-of-factly.

Severus, whose dignity was now well and truly left at the dinner table, promptly sprayed his drink all over himself and the fire at Lucius's unexpected admission. Luckily the three men were far enough back from the fire, otherwise they would be having to explain to dear Cissy why none of them had any eyebrows.

Julius just stared at Lucius, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, mouth slightly open as though he wanted to say something, but had really no idea what to say.

"Why, in the bloody hell would you go there Lucius?" Severus found his voice apparently.

"You've fought so hard to stay out of the bloody place… and Lestrange? Seriously? Who'd you have to fuck to get access to that mongrel?" It was very clear how Severus felt about Lucius's little trip.

Lucius just shrugged, "I wanted answers and our dear Minister if you must know. He prefers two fingers, well buttered..."

Severus sucked in a laugh at the joke made at Cornelius Fudge's expense.

"Then what's so funny? You know, I'm actually worried for you Luce," Julius's expression was still trying to work out what it should be reflecting.

"Well, if you two would let me explain and not spit _my_ fine liquor onto my plush and _expensive_ rug" he eyeballed Severus just a little too tipsy-like and one eyebrow raised, "I'll be more than happy to play storyteller…"

And Lucius proceeded to do just that.

Recounting the entire visit to the wizarding jail and his reasoning behind it. So absorbed was he in his plan, and maybe the alcohol didn't help, but as he spoke, he stood and paced, arms waving wildly, narrating everything right down to the walk back to the manor and his gratitude for feeling the wind in his hair.

There was a moment of quiet after Lucius had finished. He was leaning exhaustedly on the mantle now, over the hearth, his back towards his two best friends who remained rooted to their seats. For a split second Lucius feared the judgement he expected to receive from the two men, their words were able to cause him more harm than anyone else's could, purely because he loved them and respected them as family.

And family always knew how to cut deepest.

Much to his surprise however, he felt the strong hand of Julius on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn around. He didn't realise that he had begun to cry a little during his story. Such motivation and drive that lived within his being, focused on finding his little girl, it was as though the madness that had started to grow within him subsided for a while, the beast going back to sleep, lulled by tears releasing pain around his heart.

Julius turned back and sat once again, satisfied that Lucius found his composure. With a little encouragement, Severus cleared his throat, ready to tell Julius about the apparition story from New Years in the library. He then added his findings from the paternity potion. Lucius deserved to know.

He knew that the two men in the room where the only ones he could be honest with. His suspicions of even Dumbledore, the old coot, were getting stronger. This alarmed him, probably because of his uncertainty over someone of which he always was so used to being certain.

On hearing that the blood belonged to a little Miss Ophelia Malfoy, Lucius's head dipped, clearly not understanding what Severus was trying to get out.

"Articulate a bit clearer man," Julius pushed.

"What I am trying to say," Severus replied snarkily, "Is that, I have reason to suspect that the apparition wasn't a ghost. I am of the belief, that what you and I both saw, was a... a soul. One that has a physical body, a heart beat..."

Severus tapered off quietly, but Julius had caught on.

"You mean like a projection - as in an ethereal projection?" Julius mused out loud.

"Precisely." Confirmed the hook-nosed Severus Snape.

:::::::::::::

"So, what can I do?" Julius asked over coffee and bacon the following morning.

Narcissa had left a couple of hours prior to 'meet up with the girls', Lucius shuddered at the thought of some of Cissa's lady friends, they creeped him out a little...

All their flirty giggling…

Very un-pureblood ogling…

Married witches batting their eyelashes in full public view…

_Where were their sensibilities?_

Lucius realised that he had become distracted when a balled up napkin landed on his plate.

"Real mature Julius," the blonde responded dryly.

"Then answer my question – what can I do?" His impatience was infectious, something in this case Lucius was grateful for. If anyone could keep Lucius's plan rolling along, it was Julius.

The blonde man smirked, raising from his seat.

"Tell me Julius, of all the women you've ever been with, have you ever considered that you may have been a woman in a past life?"

Julius Peverell was once again a very confused, but undeniably curious, man. He smirked back at Lucius in kind though, "I'm up for anything".


End file.
